


Fetharsi

by fireopal77



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Lore, Angels, Angst, Backstory, Brotherly Love, Comfort, Divinity, F/M, Forgiveness, Grief, Guilt, Heaven, Hell, Hurt Lucifer, Insecure Lucifer, Love, Lucifer's Fall, M/M, Memories, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), Silver City, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, Wings, angels customs and behavior, celestial brothers, historical flashbacks, relationships, suppressed memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 81,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireopal77/pseuds/fireopal77
Summary: Begins right where the Season 3 finale ends. The wounding of Lucifer's wings awakens long suppressed memories. While Chloe wrestles with the burning question--Can she accept, and even love, the Devil?--Lucifer and Amenadiel deal with their own complicated relationship. As angels in the Silver City, theirs was a very close and loving brotherly bond, and they devotedly groomed each other's wings. This story reveals how and why that changed, with many flashbacks, both heavenly and historical, including Lucifer's Fall and the scandal surrounding it involving Amenadiel.Lots of angel lore and wings. This story is like a valentine for wing lovers.The meaning of the title will be revealed as the story unfolds.





	1. Chapter One

“It’s all true…”

 

The look of shocked horror on Chloe Decker’s face says it all. If he were standing close enough Lucifer knows he would see his Devil Face mirrored in her eyes.

 

Why now? Why like this? Is this his punishment for killing Cain, for taking a human life? To have what was lost restored at the most inopportune moment, to lose Chloe, when hope was finally hovering on the horizon.  He can still feel her hands stroking his face, and hear her soft, tenderly spoken words “No, you’re not, not to me…” when he told her the truth “I am the Devil.” But telling and showing are two different things. And this is _not_ the way he would have chosen. Not like this, _never_ like this!

 

“Detective…”

 

He wants to reassure her, to beg her not to be afraid of him, and of what her eyes see, but every word suddenly seems as worthless as he feels. And would words really make a difference, would the syllables even penetrate her brain, when a blistered and bald, burn-ravaged red monster stands before her like some nightmarish fiend stepped out of a horror movie? Perhaps if they had watched _Nightmare on Elm Street_ together that might have helped prepare her in some small measure? At least he might have sounded her out—“Detective, could you love a man with a face like that?” If only he had thought of it sooner…but too late now!

 

Tears simmer in his flaming eyes. Now seeing is believing and all hope of love is dead.

 

“It’s all true…” Chloe repeats, her voice monotonous and trance-like. Her feet shuffle uncertainly against the marble floor. Is she advancing or retreating? Will she draw her weapon and shoot him down, or turn and flee as fast as her feet will carry her? And what of her mind; has the horrible, monstrous sight of him broken her as it has so many others before?

 

At that moment, there’s a whoosh of wind and the rustle of feathers behind him and time mercifully stops.

 

“Lucifer…” Amenadiel’s voice sounds stern, like he’s about to deliver a scolding, a sermon, or some solemn pronouncement from God.

 

Dread stabs Lucifer’s heart, but whatever is coming, he would rather get it over with, there’s really no sense in dragging it out. The act of turning sends a thousand needles of fire-tipped, dagger-sharp agony stabbing into his back and hidden wings. For an instant everything goes red and black. He cries out and his knees buckle, the proud Devil is humbled by pain.

 

Amenadiel stares down at his brother, crumpled amidst his own fallen feathers, blood-splashed and bullet-torn, there are so many of them it’s hard to believe Lucifer has even a feather left.

 

“Brother…” he starts to speak, but then he looks into Lucifer’s eyes and sees the dimly flickering flames drowning in tears, the hell-hot red faded to a muddy coral, and every word of reproach and condemnation Amenadiel might have said dies unspoken. Compassion floods his heart. As he kneels down, he notices the bloodstains on the nearest feather looks like a child’s crude painting of a blood-dripping broken heart.

 

“Luci, what happened?” he asks gently.

 

Lucifer hisses and flinches away from Amenadiel’s touch. His back is alive with pain. Every bone, muscle, tendon, vein, and feather seems to be screaming in agony. Even when he fell from Heaven, he never hurt like this. He’s too near to Chloe, but the last thing he wants to do is leave her, even though to have her look upon him in horror feels like a serrated knife stabbing and twisting inside his heart. All he wants to do is close his eyes and hold onto the precious memory of her kiss. _No you’re not, not to me…_ Those words were Heaven, but then she saw his face, and he fell, crashing down to Hell, again.

 

“Luci?” Amenadiel’s voice draws him back to the present and the future he has to face…a future without her. _No one loves the Devil_.

 

“Cain…” Lucifer swallows hard and tries to get the words out, “…he…he tried to…kill…Chloe. I shielded her…with my wings, Brother…it was the only way…the only way…I could…save…Chloe…”

 

With fresh horror, Amenadiel regards the bloodstained field of feathers, pure white soldiers fallen in defense of the woman Lucifer loves. Tears fill his eyes. The Lightbringer’s wings, the purest, whitest, brightest ones God ever made, each feather glowing with the same light that lit the stars, gave the moon its silver glow, and set the sun on fire, sacrificed for love of this mortal woman.

 

He glances at Chloe’s frozen figure. Will she remember, will she understand the enormity of it, the sacrifice, or will the shock of seeing Lucifer’s other face crowd everything else out?

 

Being very careful of Lucifer’s back, Amenadiel puts his arms around his little brother and gathers him close. He presses a kiss so feather-light Lucifer doesn’t even feel it onto the burnt and barren scalp. It’s been a long, long time since he held his brother, but, right now, it’s all he can give Lucifer. If Lucifer decides to rebel against the embrace and sink his teeth into Amenadiel’s shoulder he’ll have to go through his vest first, and right now it’s doubtful whether he has the strength, so he’ll probably tolerate being hugged. The bittersweet twinge of regret wrings Amenadiel’s heart. Once, long, long ago, there was a time when Lucifer would have come willingly into his arms, seeking love and comfort. And not only in pain and sorrow, but in joy and gladness. _You used to know, but now you’ve forgotten_ …he thinks as he holds his little brother.

 

Amenadiel can only imagine the pain his brother endured as hundreds of machine gun bullets ripped through his wings—wings they would have bounced right off had it been any other human but Chloe Decker that Lucifer was shielding. But they kept her safe; they served their purpose, he knows that’s all that matters to Lucifer. Even now, Amenadiel can tell, Lucifer’s thoughts are with Chloe. She’s the one who should be holding him now. 

 

Lucifer sags weakly against Amenadiel’s shoulder, trembling as a muted cry of pain, halfway between a moan and a whimper, slips through the lips he’s biting trying to hold it back.

 

“He…He slashed me...with a Hell blade…before I…I…twisted his arm and…drove it…into his own heart…I…had to…kill him, Brother…if I had…let him live…he would never…never have…stopped until…I had to kill him, Brother…”

 

“Luci, listen to me,” Amenadiel clasps Lucifer’s face firmly between his palms, forcing the dying flames of his eyes to meet his own dark, tear-swimming gaze. “You didn’t _kill_ him, Luci, you _executed_ him, you _punished_ him. You dispensed divine justice and punished evil. If he had been allowed to go on living, he would have dedicated his life to vengeance, he would have killed anyone who stood in his path, and anyone you cared about; he had to be stopped. You did what was required, Brother.”

 

Amenadiel’s thumbs wipe away the tears dripping into the burnt red furrows of Lucifer’s face. His hands move to gently stroke the fire-ravaged scalp as he draws his brother’s head down to rest upon his shoulder and rocks him gently.

 

“It’s okay…Everything’s okay…”

 

Like a wild animal caught in a trap, Lucifer doesn’t know whether to struggle or stay still and surrender, and that frightens him. His brother’s touch stirs memories faint as dying embers—vague, unbearable memories of having his wings lovingly petted and preened and playfully rumpled, of dark fingers bathed in warmth and light gently carding through the silky, luminous white feathers, and affectionately, indulgently, scratching a certain spot on his back, not too hard nor too light, but just right. If he lets himself, Lucifer can even remember falling asleep with feathers other than his own enfolding him. It’s no coincidence that the word for “peace” in the Tongue of Angels sounds remarkably like “feathers;” it’s a word that also implies love if spoken in just the right manner.

 

In the days of naked innocence, before humanity started to see everything through the lens of sex, that was what “the act of love” meant— _Wings!_ It was a beautiful, blissful and pure, not at all carnal, experience that only angels understand. Human and demon minds, awed as they are by angel wings, can’t see past the naked skin or grasp that the divine Act of Love has nothing to do with genitals. The ancient Egyptians got it terribly wrong. They could not conceive of chastity in Heaven, or _Aaru_ as they called it, and mistook preening pairs for breeding pairs, and assumed the gods married their siblings to keep their bloodline pure. The royal house sought to imitate the divine winged ones, with tragic results, as each generation grew increasingly enfeebled by inbreeding. All because the Pharaoh and his best friend, the soon-to-be-appointed High Priest, happened upon a pair of angels while duck hunting in the marshes. The Egyptians were drinking wine and in high, festive spirits, their bawdy minds already turning to the courtesans and dancing girls waiting for them back at the palace. They misunderstood both what they saw and what they were told, they even misremembered the angels’ names as Osiris and Isis, and in that moment the bedrock of their faith was born. Amenadiel was later sent to set things straight, but the Pharaoh had a particularly beautiful sister and found the new religion convenient, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.

 

Lucifer feels an ache like a dancer who has lost his legs must feel long after the limbs are gone and all that remains are bittersweet memories mixed with the ashes of former triumphs and all too real phantom pain. It’s all coming back…a rush of images and sensations filling and overwhelming his brain as it rewinds to a long ago and willfully forgotten time when, with sure and loving hands, the brothers used to tend each other’s wings.

 

Lucifer always loved Amenadiel’s wings, his own magnificent, radiant white ones, despite their exquisite, breathtaking beauty and divine glow, are so easily defined—they’re white, end of story. But Amenadiel’s wings have an air of mystery about them, whenever humans see them it provokes endless arguments about what color they are. Of course, Lucifer knows they’re _nomipi_ - _jasori_ , for countless millennia his fingers combed and caressed those soft, sleek feathers, he knows them as well as he knows his own. He’s slept blanketed beneath and seen up close that uniquely beautiful blend of brown, black, grey, and cream, darkness dancing with light, swirling, merging, and melding, like rich cream and decadent caramel syrup being poured into black coffee and stirred with a silver spoon. But the color seems to confound human eyesight; it just doesn’t register properly, causing them to lump it in amongst all those bland, boring colors like mushroom and taupe or some horrid grey-beige hybrid, or even plain, generic brown. As though _any_ angel, let alone the Firstborn of God, would have wings of such an insipid hue!

 

The memories are so keen and visceral they make Lucifer gasp and tremble with a longing he never expected to feel again. He can feel it deep in the bones of his wounded wings, as though the very marrow is aching and pining. He can see, and even feel, his long tan fingers gliding through those splendid dusky feathers, swirling that medley of colors, his nails lightly grazing the vulnerable skin beneath, and his warm breath mischievously stirring the short feathers cresting the top, making his brother gasp, laugh, and shiver. _Jahilama_ , Rumpling, the pre-preening play during which the fingers rake, either slow or fast, languid or urgent, depending on whether the mood is spirited or solemn, through the layers of feathers, creating a glorious fluffy mess that will take _hours_ to smooth and straighten out. Playing, but not at a game that is meant to be either won or lost, only to prolong the pleasure of preening.

 

Hidden away inside his back, Lucifer’s bullet-riddled, bleeding, and broken wings spasm painfully with echoing pangs of desire, _yearning_ to feel what they haven’t felt in eons. It’s a divinely exquisite feeling like a thousand lovely little butterflies—but never the nervous variety—of having the soul take flight and become music. It’s like being wrapped in a blanket woven of warmth and contentment, intimacy and trust, perfect safety, peace and purest love. To bathe and be washed, pure and clean, in a cascading waterfall of healing pleasure. It’s floating, high above all time and space, free from all worries, cares, judgments and expectations. It’s knowing that even shattered you are whole and loved completely; your faults are like the matrix in a turquoise, marring the perfect blue but making each gem special and unique. It’s the exhilarating feeling that the soul is soaring even though the body is still, and the plummeting thrill of fearlessly falling secure in the knowledge that strong and loving arms are ready, waiting to catch you when you cry out, and hold you safe and close with one hand cradling your racing heart until the quivering surge subsides. It’s being the cold hands that reach out to a warming fire, and the fire that warms them, all at the same time; the comforter and the comforted are one and the same, _nanisi-namadima_ , flesh and feathers. It’s the warm shiver of melting bliss, quaking vulnerability and quivering boneless collapse, a lust-less, sublime, soul-touching ecstasy that transcends and defies any earthly comparison. _This_ is what it truly means to touch the divine!

 

The Act of Love even has its own language. His ecstatic sighs, _Ni vimadila!_ (I am melting!), and urgent, rapturous cries, _Ni dobix_ , _vemasi pim!_ (I am falling, catch me!), echo in his mind, along with that last sleepy, contented murmur, _Virosasil_ , _Esiasch_ (Hold me, Brother), when he lays his carefree curly head down on the shoulder that is his favorite pillow and shuts his eyes as Amenadiel’s wings enfold him.

 

Even though it’s been eons, he remembers perfectly. But all Lucifer wants to do is forget. He doesn’t want to be reminded. He can’t deal with _this_ , not _now_ , not coupled with Chloe and the pain of his injuries…It’s too much heaped on top of too much!

 

Lucifer pushes the memories and Amenadiel away.

 

“ _Don’t!_ _Please!_ Please don’t make this harder, Amenadiel! I can’t bear it! If you’ve come to take me back to Hell, get me on my feet, and we’ll go!” He can’t bear the way his brother is looking at him, with so much sadness in his eyes, so he glances back at Chloe. Fresh tears begin to fall as Lucifer looks at her, longing for what he knows he can never have, and his form flickers between the heavenly and the hellish, flayed, ravaged red alternating with smooth, golden tan, back and forth, again and again. “There’s nothing left for me here now that she’s seen...”

 

“No, Luci,” Amenadiel shakes his head, “that’s not why I’m here. If you ever go back to Hell it will be to rule there, Brother, not to hide from feelings you don’t know how to, or want to, deal with.”

 

“Is that my punishment then?” Lucifer’s form flickers wildly, dizzyingly, between monster and man. “Am I to stay and see the hatred and revulsion, the fear, in her eyes every time she looks at me? Am I to become the monster that stalks her dreams? And every day see the dark circles around her eyes and the haunted look of someone who fears sleep because of the nightmares it brings? Is that my punishment, Brother? And people think the Devil is cruel!”

 

“You’re the only one here who thinks you need to be punished, Luci.” Amenadiel keeps his tone patient and soothing and reaches out a calming hand, hoping to stop the pain and fury fueled flickering. It’s like a lightswitch constantly being toggled back and forth, only instead of on/off it’s devil/man. “While there’s life, there’s hope, Brother, and Chloe may surprise you. Give her time, let the shock pass, and I think her heart will see more, and better, than her eyes have today. Monsters don’t kill to protect the people they love. Monsters don’t love. You’re not a monster, Luci.”

 

Lucifer looks at him with eyes flaming one second, dark as coffee beans the next. Under Amenadiel’s gentle touch the crazed flickering slows to a sluggish crawl, and Lucifer’s form shifts again, devil to man, and back again, before finally, with one last feeble flicker, settling on man.

 

“There’s so much to be said, though now is not the time, but know that I am truly sorry, Brother, that the things I said in anger, self-righteousness, and frustration helped plant that seed even deeper. Forgive me, please, for letting my anger get the better of me. It’s a seed I know—I’ve always known—should never have been planted.” The words are spoken softly with humility, sincerity, and grace.

 

“Really?” Lucifer looks at his brother with eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate. In his voice, there’s the uncertain quaver of a mistrustful child who nonetheless wants desperately to believe, and hearing it hurts Amenadiel’s heart. There are more wounds here than those caused by bullets and Hell steel that need to be healed.

 

“Really,” Amenadiel nods, “I mean every word, Brother. There,” he smiles softly, “you’re your old self again. Look…” Carefully, gently, he puts his hands on Lucifer’s waist and turns him to face one of the few mirrors that escaped destruction.

 

As Lucifer stands and stares, reaching up to touch his own face in disbelief, the pain bites deep and hard, rippling like the aftershocks of a massive earthquake up and down his back. Tears strangle the breath in his throat. Everything goes black and he feels himself falling…falling…again.

 

Amenadiel quickly catches him. There’s an alarming ashen tone beneath the gold of Lucifer’s tan and his breathing is becoming increasingly labored. They’ve stayed in this place too long…

 

“Let’s get you back to your penthouse so we can tend to your wounds. You need to rest and let your body heal.” Amenadiel glances over at Chloe, still standing motionless and mute. While he’s in her presence, Lucifer can’t even begin to heal, the pain will just keep sapping away at his strength until there’s nothing left. “But first…” the very mention of delay brings regret; Lucifer’s injuries desperately need attention, “…we have to…what are we going to do about all _this_?” He sighs and shakes his head despairingly at the snowstorm of bloody feathers, so much evidence of divinity strewn about…It would take _hours_ to pick them all up, hours Lucifer doesn’t have.

 

“It’s easy enough to…pluck a Hell blade from Cain’s chest,” Lucifer rallies and pushes determinedly away from Amenadiel, and, grimacing at the pain it brings, staggers over and does just that, “but all…these…feathers…”

 

“Fire!” Amenadiel suddenly exclaims.

 

Lucifer’s eyes quickly scan Cain’s fallen henchmen.

 

“Surely one of these chaps must have a cigarette lighter…”

 

“No, Luci…”

 

“Well, it would raise all manner of awkward questions if we use mine! Look! That one there has nicotine stains on his fingers…”

 

Lucifer takes a step towards the corpse and collapses.

 

“My wings…Cain…Hell steel…Chloe…” Lucifer sighs, sagging weakly within the protective circle of Amenadiel’s arms. “Brother…I…I…don’t know…if I…can…find…the…strength to…walk out…of…this place…or to…even…crawl.”

 

Amenadiel can feel Lucifer’s heart struggling to keep beating.

 

“If you can’t, I’ll carry you,” Amenadiel promises. “But we can’t leave things like this, we just can’t! Brother, you are still the Lightbringer, when Father said ‘Let there be light!’ you lit the sun. Don’t you see? If it’s your fire, you can command the flames not to spread beyond this building or to harm anyone.”

 

“I…haven’t…the…strength,” Lucifer insists, his head drooping against Amenadiel’s shoulder. He just wants to lie down on the floor, shut his eyes, and sleep for a hundred years.

 

“Try, just try,” Amenadiel pleads, “if you can’t…we’ll think of something else.”

 

“Take…Chloe…out…first.”

 

Amenadiel helps Lucifer hobble to the foot of the stairs and props him carefully against one of the beige marble newel posts.

 

Lucifer looks at Chloe with such longing in his eyes as Amenadiel lifts her gently in his powerful arms. He reaches out a trembling hand to caress her golden-brown hair, he wants to bend and kiss her forehead, but stops himself just in time, knowing that she would shudder with revulsion at the mere thought of the Devil’s touch.

 

“Have faith, Brother, in her, even if you can’t in anyone or anything else.”

 

Lucifer nods halfheartedly and slumps weakly against the strong marble, watching as Amenadiel carries Chloe away from him. It’s possible he may never see her again.

 

“Brother? You…will…come…back?” There’s that heartbreaking, uncertain, frightened child tremor again. Lucifer is so accustomed to being abandoned he’s come to expect it. “If I…am able to…do this…it will…drain…what little is…left…of…my strength…I…will have…nothing…left...”

 

It breaks Amenadiel’s heart to know that Lucifer is actually afraid he might leave him alone and wounded amidst the flames. The fact that it is a fire that cannot harm him makes no difference. But it shouldn’t come as a surprise; the realization hits him hard. He did it once before, when Lucifer was cast down into Hell. Even though there were reasons—good reasons—and orders to obey, they seem more like excuses now after so much time has passed.

 

 _Everything I did was intended to protect you_ , _Luci, I wish you could understand_ … _and forgive!_ _I’m so sorry I failed!_

 

Amenadiel swallows down his guilt, and his grief.  As heavy as the burden weighs, it will have to wait.

 

“I’ll be right back, just as soon as I put Chloe down somewhere safe,” he promises, his voice gentle and reassuring, as though he’s speaking to a lost and frightened child. “I won’t leave you, Luci. When you wake up, you’ll be safe at your penthouse. I promise!”

 

Lucifer focuses on the feathers nearest the fallen Cain. Sweat beads his brow and pours down to join the tears streaming from his eyes. His dark orbs flare into flames as he concentrates. They waver at first, a weak and watery yellow-orange, but they feed on the last vestiges of Lucifer’s strength and blaze bright and fierce, the flames of Hell obeying their lord and master. Slowly, tiny sparks of light, the size of pinpricks at first, but then larger, like dancing orange fireflies, appear in the air. They gather nearer, outlining Cain’s body like vivid orange chalk. There’s a gentle crackle that grows louder as the little fireballs descend and the blood-caked white feathers ignite. 

 

As Lucifer slumps to the floor the flames begin to leap, almost playfully, like children in a game of tag, from feather to feather all across the room until each and every one of them is burning bright. Then they begin climbing the walls. The naughty little flames embrace a candelabrum in the corner that looks like a prop from a production of _Phantom of the Opera_. They eagerly devour the wax candles and melt the gilded metal into a twisted ruin. A wooden coat-rack, a set of faux eighteenth century chairs, and several crates collapse into ashes as all around mirrors and lightbulbs shatter in the rising heat. The mischievous flames chase each other up bookshelves and across the tops of books before darting down their spines while plaster statues and busts of tyrannical Roman emperors who have been burning in Hell for centuries melt like snowmen. But Lucifer sees none of this. He lies unconscious with his head pillowed on hard marble as the flames obediently skirt the red soles of their master’s Louboutin shoes.


	2. Chapter Two

Chloe comes to her senses like a person in the midst of the strangest dream suddenly startled awake by the shrill trill of the alarm clock. She’s standing on the sidewalk with no idea how she got there or how much time has passed. The last thing she remembers is standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at the red melted-faced horror that spoke to her with Lucifer’s voice. But now she’s outside and she’s alone. Lucifer is nowhere in sight.

 

Someone shouts “Fire!” and Chloe looks up to see flames engulfing the building. How is that possible? A concerned bystander grabs her arm and insistently pulls her away, to the opposite side of the street. She can already hear sirens screaming. She looks up, her eyes scanning the fast-climbing flames, all the way to the top. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. She blinks, shakes her head, and looks again. She glances around quickly at the crowd surrounding her. No one is freaking out, not even the ones staring up at the roof, no one is screaming “I see an angel!” they’re just talking amongst themselves and filming the fire with their cell phone cameras. A couple of people are even passing around bags of chips and a guy just offered to make a coffee run to the Starbucks around the corner.

 

Is she hallucinating? Chloe gingerly touches the bruise already blossoming painfully on her chest and wonders if when the bullet struck her, like a mule-kick as it penetrated her Kevlar vest, maybe she cracked her head against the marble floor. But no…she remembers stumbling back against Lucifer. Maybe she’s lying in a hospital bed right now and all this is a really weird dream. Maybe the doctor gave her morphine or something? Should she schedule a brain scan or at least Google the symptoms of a brain tumor? Or maybe all the stress and mess about Pierce has caught up with her at last and she’s suffered a nervous breakdown. But deep down she knows it’s none of those things. She’s only seeing what she’s seeing because she’s being allowed to see it, and it’s for her eyes only. And it isn’t imaginary, it’s all too real.

 

Impervious to the smoke and flames that skirt his flowing robes, Amenadiel stands atop the burning building, immense grey-beige wings spread wide, poised to take flight, as he cradles an unconscious Lucifer in his arms, dangling and limp as a worn-out ragdoll.

 

He’s himself again, the same Lucifer she’s always known, although an alarming pallor now trespasses upon his tan. Thick strands of black hair hang down from his scalp, swaying in the breeze, caressed by rising curls of smoke. It’s crazy—as much styling product as Lucifer puts in his hair to keep it smooth and sleek his whole head should be a ball of fire by now, but the flames actually seem to be _bowing_ to him! There’s a strange, inexplicable _reverence_ about the way those flames are behaving! They’re surrounded by fire, it’s risings all around them, a billowing inferno raging against the sky, orange and angry, but the flames never touch Lucifer or his brother. Not one feather, stitch of clothing, or lock of hair is singed. How is that possible?

 

At that moment, Dan and Ella come rushing up. Chloe looks away, just for a moment, to assure them that everything’s okay. When she looks back again there’s no one there. The roof is a churning mass of flames; no one could stand in the midst of it without being consumed. A moment later there’s a crash as it caves in. She scans the sky above and nearly jumps out of her skin when her phone beeps.

 

There’s a message, sent from Lucifer’s phone:

 

_I’m taking Lucifer to the penthouse to heal, but his heart is in your hands. If you care, come as soon as you can._

— _Amenadiel_

 

This is real. It can’t be…but it is. It’s all true!

 

***

 

Lucifer doesn’t even look up when the elevator dings. He’s sitting huddled on the foot of the bed wearing only his black silk boxer shorts. There’s an alarming ashy gray tone about his skin and he’s shivering. He looks like he’s about to tip forward and fall off the bed.

 

Chloe starts towards him. She doesn’t know what to think or feel, she just knows that he’s still Lucifer…and he really is the Devil, as he’s been telling her all along. Her brain may be wrestling with metaphors, logic, legends, and truths, but her heart speaks loudest of all, and it says right now, whatever he is, devil or man, he needs her. She feels punch-drunk and dazzled, and a little afraid—though not really of him—and a lot confused, she can’t help feeling overwhelmed, but the love is still there, simmering steadily beneath the mind-boggling chaos, even if knowing that does scare her a little.

 

Amenadiel appears, framed in the door-less doorway like a chocolate-skinned Samson between pillars of carved and weathered stone. It hits her then; Lucifer and his brother are even older than those ancient Assyrian walls, they may have first seen them when they were new, or even while the stonemasons were still carving them. They’re older than the world, older than Civilization, they’ve seen dinosaurs come and go, empires rise and fall. Extinct species humans can only imagine from bones and fossils, Lucifer and Amenadiel actually saw with their own eyes. Trixie is excited about a presentation she’s preparing for school about Leonardo’s faded fresco of _The Last Supper_. A work of art, sadly ravaged by time, Chloe realizes with sudden, stunning clarity, that Lucifer and his brother might have seen when the colors were still fresh and vibrant. It’s incredible! Just to think of all the things they must have experienced and seen. She takes a step forward then pauses uncertainly. Amenadiel looks worried. He sees her and gently shakes his head and motions for her to stay back. Chloe nods and retreats a few steps, but she refuses to let Lucifer out of her sight.

 

Amenadiel cups Lucifer’s face between his hands and Lucifer starts up from his stupor.  He sits up straight and turns slightly. There’s an ugly gash weeping blood on his bicep. Amenadiel sits down on the bed beside him and presses a fuzzy little feather onto the wound. Chloe’s logical mind immediately starts to protest— _a feather?_ _Really?_ A wound that deep obviously requires cleaning and stitches!—but then she’s almost blinded by a burst of vivid light and the truth slaps her in the face again. When the spots stop dancing before her eyes and she can see clearly again, Lucifer’s wound is gone. There’s not a sign that it was ever there, no scab or scar, only smooth, unblemished skin. He looks better; his pallor is receding, and he’s smiling and nodding at whatever Amenadiel is saying.

 

With his brother’s help, Lucifer stands and turns to face the bed. Amenadiel steps aside, and Chloe has a clear view of Lucifer’s back. With a groan of unmistakable agony, he rolls his shoulders. Chloe cringes at what sounds like the cracking and grating of broken bones as his wings reluctantly unfold.

 

Chloe’s jaw drops. Lucifer’s wings are more red than white. As impressive as they are, they’re also a magnificent ruin. As she fights back feelings of blind panic, nausea, and light-headedness, Chloe’s eyes take in the full horror of caked and crusted blood, raw, livid skin punctured by the ugly jagged gleam of broken bones, and ragged red-white feathers pointing every which way. The act of unfurling his wings has reopened some of the wounds and they begin to weep bright red blood.

 

Her mind is swimming with the dimly remembered memory of gunfire coming from every direction, of being almost deafened by machine guns. Yet instead of fear, there was a feeling of absolute safety, warmth, and, despite the darkness, light. Arms were holding her, clutching her tight, and even through the hail of bullets she could hear a heartbeat—a heart, beating, for her. There was a scream, like an animal being tortured, that made her mind want to swim back up to the surface of consciousness so she could go and help it. But she couldn’t wake up, she felt mired in the mud of a bad dream. The next thing she knew she was on the roof, safe in Lucifer’s arm. “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” those were the words he said to her, his eyes full of love, and a certain inexplicable sadness she felt an urgent need to understand, but before she could even begin to try he was gone.

 

There was a strange rustling sound…like a great pile of autumn leaves struck by a sudden blast of wind. She knows what it was now. Wings—the already wounded and bleeding wings that had kept her safe from harm. She’s still alive thanks to those wings. Trixie still has a mother because of those wings. The enormity of it hits her and Chloe starts to cry. Whatever the world may think of the Devil, whatever words the Bible-thumping preachers thunder from their pulpits, none of it really matters, one truth comes shining through—this was an act of love…and sacrifice. Those beautiful white wings—How can Lucifer not have wanted them?—destroyed, for her sake. All she wants is to go to him, to put her arms around him, and hold him like he held her, and keep him safe from harm. But she knows she can’t; his injuries are beyond her meager first aid skills. Helplessness makes the tears fall all the harder. But she knows she has to stand back, keep her distance, and let Amenadiel tend his brother.

 

“Oh, Luci!” Amenadiel sighs and shakes his head despairingly. They talk softly, their voices low and urgent. Finally Lucifer nods and Amenadiel begins peeling the gauntlets from his wrists. Chloe knows they’re called gauntlets because her mother played Maid Marian in _Robin Hood Goes to Mars_ , the movie where five-year-old Chloe made her film debut as a village child who kneels before the evil sheriff and offers him a bouquet of space daisies only to have her head lopped off with a light saber. When Amenadiel’s silver-gray vest and black shirt quickly follow and he reaches for the waistband of his billowy-legged pants Chloe wonders if maybe she should leave. She assumed he was going to do the feather thing again, but now…this is getting weird. But curiosity and concern for Lucifer keep her rooted to the spot.

 

Thankfully, Amenadiel stops when he’s stripped down to his skintight black shorts. He moves to stand back to back with Lucifer, leaving just enough distance between their bodies for his own wings to unfurl. They appear with a whoosh, a sleek, impressive, healthy span of feathers in that trendy “greige” color a popular television shopping channel invented for people who can’t decide whether they should wear grey or beige. They’re the perfect complement to his chocolate skin. _Wow_ , Chloe thinks, _Mom would be thrilled if she could see this_! And not just because of the male physiques and amount of skin on show, or the fact that both of these admittedly gorgeous guys have gigantic wings sprouting out of their backs. Penelope Decker recently had to have her closet at the beach house enlarged to accommodate all her greige purses and shoes. It would be the ultimate, and heavenly, affirmation of her faith in greige if she knew that Lucifer’s brother has wings that color.

 

“Ready?” Amenadiel asks, reaching back to grasp Lucifer’s hands.

 

“Ready,” Lucifer nods.

 

Amenadiel steps back, closing the gap between them until their wings align and touch. With a burst of brilliant light, their wings fuse together, suddenly and violently, like two powerful magnets meeting. They seem to be on fire with a fire that doesn’t burn, the quivering feathers blazing with an unearthly golden light. Their bodies convulse head to foot, shaking as though caught in a contagious epileptic seizure, and sweat pours from their skin until every inch is glistening, or possibly sizzling. Their chins tilt up, like drowning men, gasping for air, desperate to keep their heads above the water, and their eyes roll up until only the whites are visible. But through it all they never let go of each other’s hands.

 

An ocean of light floods the penthouse, penetrating into the farthest corners. It’s so intense Chloe has to turn away and shield her eyes for fear it will melt her corneas. She feels a hot, suffocating feeling, like she’s drowning in sunlight, to the point where she’s tempted to try to wade through it to the elevator just to try and escape it.

 

Like two magnets fighting the force that draws them together, they let go of each other’s hands and their bodies, with great effort, pull apart.

 

Chloe peers cautiously through her fingers, relieved to see that the blinding light is gone.

 

Lucifer falls forward, onto the bed, but his body, slippery with sweat, slides right off the silky black bedspread. He lands sprawling on his back, but the wings that cushion his fall are a pristine and glowing white. The feathers are ruffled, but they’re whole, and there’s not a speck of blood on them.

 

Amenadiel manages to stagger a few steps forward and brace himself against the wall. He leans there, breathing heavily, sweat pouring from every pore. His wings droop and sag behind him, their tips grazing the floor. After a few moments, he folds them away.

 

“Brother, did the earth move for you too?” Lucifer gasps, his voice a playful, amused purr. The saucy twinkle in his eyes and the teasing smirk that has returned to grace his lips proves he’s well on the road to recovery. Chloe’s never been so happy to hear inappropriate sexual innuendo in all her life.

 

“It was rather like an orgasm without sexual stimulation or ejaculation,” Amenadiel thoughtfully observes.

 

“Well I would offer you a cigarette,” Lucifer chuckles as he tries, and fails, to sit up, “but I am well and truly spent!” He groans and flops back onto the floor.

 

Chloe can’t help but smile as she inches closer. They both end up on the floor, laughing like children, before Amenadiel finally manages to get Lucifer on his feet. But Lucifer’s long, slender legs are as weak as a newborn colt’s. He’s like Bambi on ice! Without Amenadiel to support him, he would have pitched forward and fallen flat on his face. As Amenadiel keeps a protective hold upon his waist, Lucifer rolls his shoulders. His wings give a halfhearted twitch but fail to fold. He leans against Amenadiel for a moment and then takes a deep breath, straightens, and tries again, then once more, before he gives up and shakes his head in defeat. He doesn’t have the strength to tuck them away.

 

“It’s okay, you just need to rest...”Amenadiel says reassuringly. His hand instinctively reaches out to smooth down the soft, snowy feathers sticking up around Lucifer’s shoulders.

 

Lucifer bristles and Amenadiel instantly backs off.

 

Like an exhausted man absentmindedly petting a cobra, it only takes a moment for Amenadiel to realize his mistake.

 

 “DO NOT PET MY WINGS LIKE A COCKER SPANIEL’S EARS, BROTHER!” Lucifer snarls as the flames in his eyes ignite. “I’LL RIP YOUR HEART OUT AND EAT IT FOR BREAKFAST!”

 

_Whoa!_ Chloe takes a step back. _I did not see that coming!_

 

Fury fast rekindles Lucifer’s strength, and he shoves Amenadiel away with such force that he barely has time to put out his arms and brace his hands against the doorway to keep from falling down the marble steps. He ducks quickly as the corner reading lamp sails over his head, its long silver pole gleaming maliciously like a spear. Fortunately, furious as he is, Lucifer is still in a weakened state, so lifting and hurling his caramel leather reading chair is a little too much for him, though he does try.

 

Lucifer looks like a cornered animal. He’s angry, hurt, confused, and frightened so he’s lashing out. He stands there panting with a crazed look in his eyes. Sweat is dripping down to mingle with his tears and he wipes furiously at his eyes. Clearly that innocent, affectionate stroking of his wings lit a fuse inside of Lucifer and the bomb exploded before Amenadiel could even attempt to defuse it. It’s a gentleness Chloe knows instinctively that Lucifer desperately needs, but he’s too angry to accept it, she just doesn’t know why. There’s a sputtering flicker of red and, for only an instant, she sees the hellish red figure with the flaming eyes again before the familiar Lucifer reappears. He’s panting and wild still, but his eyes and voice are full of tears.

 

“She’ll never touch me like that, now that she’s seen, now that she knows, I really am the Devil!”

 

“Luci, you don’t know that!” Amenadiel steps towards him again, with the calm but wary, alert demeanor of a tiger trainer, palms out to ward off another attack. “Give her time; give her a chance to…”

 

“NO ONE LOVES ME! EVERYONE LEAVES ME!”

 

“Luci, that isn’t true!” Amenadiel stands his ground.

 

“IT IS TRUE! IT IS! NO ONE LOVES THE DEVIL!”

 

There’s a fast flash of red rage again, it’s like little balls of fire are rolling down Lucifer’s whole body. Chloe thinks it’s probably the strangest sight she’ll ever see in her life—an angry red devil on fire with fury, snarling and seething, with pure white angel wings flowing from his shoulders, dragging the floor like a heavy, regal white ermine cape. It’s inconceivable that this proud, majestic, magnificent, invincible, immortal creature could be so broken, hurt, and fragile inside. But he is. The image Lucifer Morningstar projects of a confident, self-indulgent playboy hides a much sadder truth—the shattered soul of an abused and abandoned child.

 

“Brother, _please_ …” Amenadiel keeps his voice low and gentle as he takes another cautious step towards Lucifer.

 

The glowing red eyes go dark again, like buttons of bittersweet chocolate, and tears pour down Lucifer’s face. He vainly swats them and a shock of dark hair from his eyes. In that moment he looks so vulnerable and confused, like a lost child who desperately needs a hug. A ragged sob catches in his throat and he takes a tentative step towards his brother. It’s as though some instinct buried deep inside Lucifer still knows who to go to when he’s afraid and hurting. And then his eyes catch fire again and the wounded creature howls.

 

“GO! LEAVE! YOU NEVER LOVED ME! YOU’RE ONLY HERE BECAUSE I’M YOUR BLOODY TEST!”

 

He lunges towards Amenadiel like a snarling beast.

 

“LUCIFER!” Chloe shouts.


	3. Chapter Three

It’s like a switch is suddenly thrown inside of Chloe, she’s a mother, and he’s acting like a child—a hurt and angry child, but a child nonetheless. And after all that his brother has done for him...Devil or not, this behavior is _completely_ unacceptable!

 

The sharp, scolding tone in her voice stops Lucifer in his tracks. He whirls around to see her standing there. In that instant the raging red devil is gone. He looks just like a scared child as he stands there staring at her, brown eyes wide, brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering.

 

“Chloe…” his voice trembles over her name, and then she sees the whites of his eyes as they roll up into his head and he crumples to the floor in a dead faint.

 

“Lucifer!” Chloe rushes to his side and kneels down and gathers him in her arms. “Lucifer!” her voice is soft, tender and urgent now, as she strokes his face and hair. “Lucifer!” she lightly slaps his cheek. “ _Please_! Open your eyes; look at me!”

 

Gazing down at them, Amenadiel is reminded of Michelangelo’s _Pietà_ as Lucifer’s practically naked body lies limply draped across Chloe’s lap, his white wings cascading over her knees like the marble Virgin’s garments.

 

“Will he be okay?” Chloe looks up anxiously at Amenadiel.

 

With patience and exhaustion clearly doing battle inside his soul, Amenadiel sinks down onto the foot of the bed. “Even celestial beings have their limits, Chloe. His wings were ravaged by machine guns; when he was fighting Cain he got slashed with a Hell-forged blade—Hell steel can be fatal to us if the wound is deep enough without divine intervention—you saw his Devil Face in a way that he _never_ intended; he started a fire to conceal proof of divinity from humanity—a fire he could control so the flames wouldn’t spread and no one would be harmed by them—and healing his wings also sapped his strength when he was already depleted. It’s a bit much, even for him. My little brother has had a busy day. And that’s not even taking into account the emotional turmoil that he’s been wrestling with for…awhile. But, physically, he’ll be fine. It may take a day or two, or even three; he just needs to rest.”

 

Amenadiel knows her presence will slow the process down, but Chloe’s absence would be like throwing gasoline on the bonfire of Lucifer’s already deep-seated fears of abandonment. He needs her here more than he needs her away. And, so far, she seems to be coping with the day’s revelations remarkably well. When he took a chance and let her see them on that burning rooftop and sent that text, giving her a choice, she didn’t fall apart; she chose to come to Lucifer. She’s seen the Devil and his wrath, but she didn’t run away. She’s down on the floor cradling him in her arms; clearly she isn’t afraid of him.

 

“So…” Amenadiel heaves himself up with a weary sigh, “let’s get him into bed.”

 

It takes some maneuvering since Lucifer is unconscious, slippery with sweat, and his wings are out. They decide to lay him with his head down at the foot of the bed so he has room to spread out without imperiling nightstands and lamps. As Lucifer starts to stir, Chloe turns to grab a pillow to put under his head, but he moves suddenly, a sort of lunging wriggle-crawl, and the next thing she knows his head is in her lap. He’s lying on his side and a wing is draped over his shoulder, nudging her knee, like a puppy begging to be petted.

 

“Ummm…oookkkaaayyy…” she gives Amenadiel a questioning glance. She’s just seen Lucifer go ballistic because his own brother touched his wings, so she’s understandably a little reluctant.

 

“It would make him very happy,” Amenadiel assures her.

 

 Chloe’s hand plunges slowly into the silky feathers, fingertips first, and then, when Lucifer doesn’t turn into a snapping, biting, fiend, she relaxes and lets her hand delve deeper. It’s incredible! They’re like no feathers she’s ever felt before! They’re not lifeless like a feather duster or costume wings, they’re _alive_! The feathers actually seem aware of her touch and twitch and fluff around her fingers. They’re like living silk, heavenly soft, and pulsing with warmth and glowing life.

 

“Are they um…supposed to glow like that?” Chloe asks cautiously.

 

Amenadiel gives her a look as though she’s just asked if cats are supposed to have whiskers. “My brother is the Lightbringer, his wings are the brightest our father ever created; they glow with Heaven’s purest light.”

 

“Oh…um…okay…that’s…um…nice…I guess?”

 

Given what a carnal creature Lucifer is, that reference to purity seems kind of contradictory. And since Lucifer was cast out of Heaven why are his wings still lit by its light? And how can the Devil also be an angel? For one of her mother’s movies— _Isobel_ : _Slut of Satan_ , which was loosely based on the life of a seventeenth century redheaded Scottish witch who stood up in church one Sunday and confessed to having sex with the Devil—they used medieval woodcuts of witches cavorting with Satan as an artistic reference, and they depicted the Devil with leathery naked wings like a bat. But, for now, Chloe decides to just go with it, just nod and smile.

 

There’s already so much to think about! It’s all real—Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, angels and demons. What does it all mean? Does it _really_ mean anything, does it _change_ anything? _That_ is the crucial question. Yesterday, she thought all that Bible stuff was just myths and metaphors, just stories like those about the Greek gods and goddesses that no one believed in anymore, only Christianity is still going strong. But today her eyes were opened wide to new and unexpected truths. Will it, or should it, change the way she lives her life and brings up her child? Should she start going to church and enroll Trixie in Sunday School? Should she join an adult Bible study course or start doing daily devotional readings? Or maybe not? They’ve been getting along just fine so far without those things. There’s still right and wrong, good and evil, and whatever she believes about divinity doesn’t change that. Maybe it’s enough to respectfully acknowledge it exists and just get on with her life? It’s so confusing, it’s like she doesn’t know anything anymore! It’s as though she’s spent her whole life standing on a rug and someone snuck up behind her and pulled it out from under her feet, causing her to fall with breath-jarring hardness. Suddenly there’s no such thing as normal anymore.

 

Lucifer gives a contented purr and snuggles deeper into her lap.

 

“That’s all he really needed.” Amenadiel smiles, happy to see his brother finally at peace. “He’ll lie like that for hours if you let him.”

 

“Over four billion years old and still just a child,” Chloe muses, letting her fingers comb the tangles from Lucifer’s dark hair. “Trixie had a science report and we had to look up the age of the sun,” she explains. “Since he lit it, I figure he’s at least a little bit older.”

 

“A little,” Amenadiel agrees. “If you think you’ll be all right, I’d really like to go take a shower.”

 

“I think we’ll be just fine,” Chloe smiles and turns her attention back to the angelic devil slumbering on her lap, wrapped in his pure white wings and purring like a well-contented cat.

 

***

 

“Still sleeping,” Amenadiel observes when he returns to Lucifer’s bedroom, feeling greatly restored after a long, hot shower. He’s wrapped in a blue silk robe and carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

 

Chloe gratefully accepts the cup he offers her, and he sits down on the bed, careful to keep a safe distance from Lucifer’s wings.

 

Lucifer is still purring peacefully in Chloe’s lap.

 

“So…” Chloe hesitantly begins, “can I ask what happened? What set him off like that? There’s more to it than me seeing his face, isn’t there?”

 

“Yeah,” Amenadiel admits, “a _lot_ more. My brother and I have a complicated history, Chloe; it goes back more than four billion years. We’ve always had our differences, Luci and I, but there were happier times too…” There’s a wistful, faraway look in Amenadiel’s deep brown eyes. “Lucifer chose to forget, and I…well…in a way, I did too—at least I tried—because it hurts so much to remember. The problem is memories don’t always stay buried, no matter how deep you dig the grave.”

 

“And that’s what happened today,” Chloe says softly. It’s starting to make sense now—it must have been something like a PTSD flashback that triggered Lucifer’s meltdown. Understanding Lucifer is like doing a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces are doled out only a few at a time, but the more she has, the more she sees of the picture.

 

Amenadiel thoughtfully sips his coffee. “I was the serious one, a warrior and a scholar, the Firstborn of God, the foremost of His angels, the Might and Fury of God, His First Emissary. I took pride in being a good, loyal and obedient son and soldier, and in knowing that _I_ was the one He could always depend on to get things done. More than anything, I wanted Him to be proud of me. I lived to please my father, to excel at every task He set for me, even the most difficult, and dreamed of doing great works in His name. Many of my other siblings were similarly dedicated, others less so, but we all had one thing in common—we all lived in Lucifer’s shadow. He was the brightest of God’s angels, the Child of Light, the Morning Star, the Lightbringer, beautiful, vain and proud, envied and adored. He was the Favorite Son, and Father lavished him with gifts. Everyone wanted to bask in Lucifer’s light. Wherever he went in the Silver City, hands were always reaching out to touch his wings, he shone so brightly, our sisters used to adorn them with flowers, and when he had been up amongst his stars they sparkled with stardust. But adoration and love are not the same thing...”

 

They sit in pensive silence for a few moments watching Lucifer sleep, the one who can, and the one who can’t, touch his wings.

 

 “Linda recently explained an expression to me about an elephant being in the room,” Amenadiel continues. “Not an actual elephant as I at first thought—we were in a small coffee shop and I was understandably alarmed—but a large imaginary, invisible elephant that represents a very real problem that the people in the room with it are unwilling to acknowledge. They just pretend it isn’t there and never talk about it, so it always stays there between them whenever they’re together. Well, there’s been an elephant between Luci and me for a very long time, and I saw it again today, by which I mean I didn’t actually _see_ a large gray mammal with floppy ears and a trunk…”

 

“Yeah, Amenadiel, it’s okay, I get it…” Chloe nods and smiles reassuringly. She’s already had to deal with Lucifer thinking that a verbally vicious argument means terrible grammar and pudding described by its own creator as tasting ‘like crap’ is an odd flavor choice. “Let me guess, Lucifer won’t talk about it, right?”

 

“Well…today really wasn’t the best time...But, no, it’s not a conversation he would welcome. I’ve tried many times before, over the course of many millennia, but…you know my brother, Chloe, he can be…difficult.”

 

“Yes, he can,” Chloe readily agrees. “But what he wants and what he needs aren’t always going to be the same thing.”

 

Lucifer’s feathers twitch and he gives a little whimper-moan and rolls tighter into himself. Amenadiel instinctively reaches out to soothe and smooth the feathers but stops himself just in time. “It’s better if you…”

 

“I’m sorry…” Chloe feels so sad for Amenadiel, he healed his brother, yet now he’s hurting, knowing that a comforting touch from him will only cause Lucifer more pain. He’s like an ex-smoker who still in unguarded moments finds himself reaching for his long-gone cigarettes. She’s willing to bet there was once a time when Amenadiel was allowed to freely touch his brother’s wings, not just to heal them after a machine gun blast, times when Lucifer didn’t go full devil and try to throw a chair at him but actually welcomed such caresses.

 

“There’s a word,” Amenadiel begins, and there’s that sad, distant look in his eyes again, “a very special word, in the Language of Angels, _Fetharsi_ , it means ‘peace’ or ‘truce,’ but it isn’t a formal word like warring armies or diplomats would use, it’s a more…loving word.”

 

“A word like brothers would use?” Chloe asks even though she already knows the answer, it’s written on Amenadiel’s face.

 

“Yes, exactly,” he’s answering her but he’s looking at Lucifer, “a word like brothers would use. You’d never know it to look at us now, but we used to be very close, we had a lot of fun, and we talked about everything, we were together more than we were apart. If angels teethed like human offspring do, I would say that Lucifer cut his teeth upon my heart. He was always fun, a born prankster, playful and charming, he was the life of the party even in those innocent before Eden days. Oh yes, he could be a holy terror with his tantrums, and then so sweet and loving…even after his innocence was lost, it was still there. Everyone adored Luci’s wings and wanted to touch them, but I was the only one he trusted to groom them, he would never allow anyone else to. And he always groomed mine, and when he did, he made me feel like my wings were the light of the world too…”

 

_You spent more lifetimes than I can even imagine grooming these wings_ , Chloe glances down at the silky feathers sliding through her fingers, _and now you aren’t even allowed to touch them_! Something terrible had to have happened, love like that doesn’t just die or disappear, something has to kill it.

 

“But it’s always been war and peace between Luci and me. Our siblings used to say we were like thunder and lightning, and that we loved each other like meat loves salt. There would be times, _many_ times over _many_ millennia, when we’d quarrel, sometimes about very important things, sometimes about very stupid things. But, sooner or later, one of us would go to the other and say _Fetharsi_ and the other would say it back. It wasn’t an established social ritual or custom; it was just how Luci and I dealt with our differences so we could be together again when they were keeping us apart. It wasn’t an admission of being wrong, or an apology, or surrender, we wouldn’t even mention whatever it was that we had quarreled about, whether it was important or not, even if it was something we would fight about again later, it didn’t matter after we said _Fetharsi_. We’d groom each other’s wings and afterwards we’d fall asleep with a feeling of perfect peace between us.”

 

Amenadiel pauses and swallows hard. There’s the ghost of tears in his eyes and Chloe can tell that whatever he’s about to say is going to hurt. The elephant is looming larger.

 

“The last time was the night before the Rebellion. I went to him. We didn’t talk about it, as incredible as that may seem. We both knew where we stood and that tomorrow we would be facing each other on opposite sides, and that nothing either of us could say was going to change that. I had a terrible feeling of foreboding, like something was ending, and everything was about to change. But I knew how determined Lucifer was. And I didn’t want to squander time in useless argument when I knew that time was precious, if I didn’t spend it wisely it would be wasted and lost forever. I have the power to stop time on Earth, Chloe, but I cannot stop time in Heaven. I just wanted to be with my brother. Most would say, and afterwards many did say, I shouldn’t have been there at all unless I was acting in my official capacity as First Emissary, or as a loyal son and soldier, a spy or even an assassin, to stop the Rebellion before it started. That I was there, at Lucifer’s palace, the night before the Rebellion, with foreknowledge of it—I knew when it was going to happen, yet I did nothing, I didn’t betray him—that could be construed as Treason. But I—we—said _Fetharsi_. We groomed each other’s wings and that night I slept with Lucifer.”


	4. Chapter Four

Chloe’s eyes pop and her jaw drops. He can’t mean… _that!_ Surely even Lucifer has lines he doesn’t cross. To cover her embarrassment, she hurriedly takes a sip of coffee but it goes down the wrong way and she coughs and sputters. Fortunately it’s not enough to wake Lucifer. His wing gives an annoyed little flap but then his head nuzzles her stomach and he’s dead to the world again.

 

Amenadiel reaches out and touches her shoulder.

 

“I phrased it that way for a reason, but it is a literal statement of truth and not a euphemism…”

 

“Oh! Well…Good!” That makes Chloe feel a whole lot better and even more confused.

 

“I want you to understand, but I also understand that you may not be able to. Ever since Eve and Adam ate of the fruit from The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, humans began to see sex in everything, innocence was lost in more ways than one, and continues to be lost. It is the way of the world, I know, but I also find it very sad. I am old enough to remember a time when nakedness was innocence, when the concept of being naked as opposed to being clothed didn’t even exist; it was the only state my siblings and I had ever known, and it was a state of purity and grace devoid of lewdness and shame. But when Adam and Eve discovered shame in their nakedness and fashioned garments from fig leaves and tried to hide from the sight of God, things changed in the Silver City as well. We obediently put on robes as our father decreed, and some of my siblings became so zealous in their modesty that they even had special robes made to wear for bathing and sleeping, the only times it was permissible to be unclothed. Angels still groomed each other’s wings of course, but this new awareness made many more cautious and conscious of the way they touched others or allowed themselves to be touched. Even the meaning of ‘the act of love’ changed—not right away, of course, but over the next century or so—and by the time of the Rebellion it had already become a euphemism for sex in the same way that saying you ‘slept with’ someone has. Since I’ve been on Earth, I’ve even become accustomed to using these phrases that way myself.” He stops and frowns as he considers his next words. “The changes created confusion, and in the minds of some the earthly and the divine acts of love became blurred, and something very beautiful, profound and pure became tainted with sin and suspicion when there had been none before…”

 

“What did it mean before?” Chloe asks curiously.

 

“Wings, it meant wings, Chloe, because wings _are_ love!” Joy lights up Amenadiel’s face. “I know that sounds very simplistic, but it’s true. An angel’s wings are strong and powerful, and they can be used as a weapon, but that’s also true of love. We hurt, and are hurt most by, those we love. Wings can make you feel invincible, but they can make you feel vulnerable too, because you have to trust them, in flight, to carry you, and when you wrap them around someone to keep them safe from harm. And when you give them into the hands of another, like when you give your heart to someone, it can be scary, a leap of faith, an act of trust. They’re serenity and shelter, comfort and joy, hope and healing, and love is also all those things. An angel’s wings always remember the love they are given. That’s why it pained my very soul when Lucifer chose to cut off his wings; to me it was the ultimate rejection—of love. But love didn’t reject Lucifer—they grew back, and kept coming back, like a song you can’t forget. Feathers come and go, old ones fall out, new ones grow, but the flesh and bones remember. Just like they never forget how to fly, they never forget the love they’re given either, even if their owner chooses to,” he glances down at Lucifer. “And that is why, once upon a time, before humanity even began, grooming an angel’s wings was called the Act of Love. Because when it’s done with love, it isn’t just about what the wings need, it’s not all about feathers, it’s about the angel too…”

 

“Or the Devil,” Chloe whispers as they both look down at the big white wing she’s been mindlessly stroking all this time.

 

“Of course, not every preening is the Act of Love,” Amenadiel clarifies. “Smoothing, stroking, straightening and properly aligning feathers, spreading the oil from the preening gland so that each feather is evenly coated, lubricated and protected, plucking damaged ones, and pulling out sheaths from newly molted feathers, removing dirt and debris, described like that, it sounds like a chore, a time consuming personal hygiene regimen, and it is, it really is; you’ve seen how big our wings are, this is not something you can do in five minutes. Grooming can be, and often is, done casually and impersonally, just like going to a doctor or hairdresser, to fulfill a need, to keep the feathers strong and healthy and looking their best. And angels do idly stroke and pet each other’s wings, like girls play with each other’s hair, for fun, out of boredom, or habit. If one notices a crooked or broken feather, it’s natural to reach out, like straightening someone’s collar or necktie. Some angels choose to tend their own wings as best they can without ever entrusting them to another’s hands, while others are groomed casually by a few or many, and some choose to be groomed by only one and no other, they become _vasiminip-pala_ , a preening pair, and that’s understood and respected…”

 

Chloe’s completely fascinated. She never knew there was so much more to wings than flight. She had a cute little green parakeet for about a week when she was six years old, but the man at the pet store clipped its wings before putting it in the cardboard carton for her to take home. And she never really gave much thought to its wings beyond the obvious fact that if they hadn’t been clipped her mother’s evil Chihuahua wouldn’t have devoured that poor little bird. She’s only ever thought about angel wings in the most superficial sense like when she’s seen dolls, costumes, Christmas cards and decorations. She always thought angels were just a myth like mermaids and assumed their wings, despite their obvious beauty, served a practical purpose, like a mermaid’s tail. And it never even occurred to her that they would have their own culture and customs.

 

“But the Act of Love is never casual,” remembered bliss transfigures Amenadiel’s face. “There’s _nothing_ else on Earth or in Heaven or Hell like it! The feeling…” he sighs deeply and shakes his head, at a loss for words, “it transcends any earthly ecstasy, and afterwards…there’s such a beautiful feeling of tranquility; an indescribably perfect peace. At the most intense moments, there’s a rush, like falling fast from the greatest heights, but without fear, because you know you’re safe, you will be caught, comforted, and held. But trying to describe it…is like comparing a teaspoon to the deepest depths of the ocean. It’s so much more than pleasure, it’s a covenant, a bond, of love and trust, of flesh and feathers— _nanisi-namadima_. You’re entirely there with the one whose wings you are grooming, and they’re entirely there with you, because you both want to be, because you choose to be. You never hurry, you don’t start with any thought of stopping, or keep one eye on the clock; time doesn’t matter, it might as well have stopped, because in your minds it _is_ stopped until you’ve finished, until both sets of wings have been groomed. You learn patience, and the right pace and rhythm, when to pause and when to move, when to talk and when to be silent, you take time to tend each and every feather, and the flesh beneath that is so rarely seen, you take time to give affection, and to receive it, you learn what feels good, where to linger, and where not to, where to make your fingers soft and light, and the areas that require a harder, firmer touch, you discover the places that need, and the ones that enjoy, special attention. An angel’s wings are like a map of love written in Braille, and the only way to read it, to learn it, is by touch. It is a very sensual, sacred experience, but not a sexual one, though many find that impossible to believe or understand.”

 

“Maybe because we’re not meant to understand,” Chloe says thoughtfully. “It sounds _beautiful!”_ She looks down at Lucifer and smiles sadly as she lets her fingers trail lightly through his feathers. “So you _were_ loved, weren’t you? I’m glad.” She looks up and directly meets Amenadiel’s eyes. “Why does it hurt so much?”

 

“Before I tell you that, first there’s something else you need to understand. Because Luci was no longer pure, and it was common knowledge that he frequently had sex with humans, many believed that he was no longer capable of the angelic Act of Love, that his touch was now profane and corrupt, and a temptation to sin. The fact that his light attracted others like moths are drawn to a flame made him seem doubly dangerous. In the eyes of many he became something like a divine leper, to touch him, or invite his touch, was to risk the loss of precious innocence and infection with the fever of lust. But there is hypocrisy even in Heaven, Chloe. There is much I could say if I wished to about some of my other siblings who were so quick to cast verbal stones and spread slander. Lucifer was not the only one in the Silver City who visited Earth to dally with humans, but he was always honest, and he believed in Free Will enough to fight for it; he was no seducer. After the Rebellion, they were all so eager to believe the worst of him, and, to make his crimes, his sins, seem all the greater, they said that he had tempted and seduced his own brother as he had Eve in Eden…”

 

Chloe is too horrified to even speak. How could they be so cruel? His own family! They took something precious, the only _real_ love Lucifer had ever known, and twisted it into something ugly and false, and cast it into the sticky mud of scandal, like pearls before swine.

 

“The evil was entirely in their minds, Chloe. I groomed my brother’s wings for eons before he lost his innocence, and for 175 years after, and there was _never_ _any difference_. Never. If it had happened before Eve’s teeth broke the skin of the forbidden fruit, only the timing of my visit would have been suspect and worthy of censure, not anything Luci and I did that night or any other.”

 

“So the one time he was loved, he was punished for it, he was innocent and they tried to make him feel guilty, like he had done something wrong.”

 

More of the puzzle pieces are falling into place, Chloe can see Lucifer’s damaged psyche more clearly than ever before and it absolutely breaks her heart. Ever since she learned that Lucifer had a brother, she’s only been aware of tension and discord between them. Now she knows it was the weight of false accusations, suspicion, and lies that had broken the bond between brothers.

 

Amenadiel nods sadly. “I’m afraid there’s more…”

 


	5. Chapter Five

“I won’t go into a blow-by-blow description of the Rebellion; all that matters is that it failed. Lucifer’s followers were brought in chains to kneel in the Hall of Justice and smited from existence with a sword of Hell-forged steel. Their souls found no repose in Heaven nor punishment in Hell, they were simply obliterated. Only Lucifer was left alive, locked in the bowels of a cold, dark prison. I wanted desperately to go to him, I tried, many times, but the guards had been warned not to let me pass or to carry any messages, no matter what I offered them.” He touches the necklace, the dangling silver rod that Chloe has never seen him without. “I even offered them this, the most precious thing I possessed, for five minutes alone with my brother. But they refused; fear of my father outweighed their greed. And we could no longer pray to each other, Father had forbidden it; we couldn’t hear each other anymore. But I refused to give up, I kept going back. I screamed his name in the hope that he would hear me and know that I had not abandoned him. When I brought berries the guards laughed and ate them themselves. I even brought the quilt from my bed, he would have recognized it and known…I couldn’t bear the thought of my brother being cold and comfortless with only straw for a bed—Luci hates being cold—but they refused to give it to him and reminded me ‘this is a prison, not a palace, such comforts have no place here.’”

 

Tears begin dripping down Amenadiel’s face, but he quickly wipes them away and takes a long sip of his now cold coffee to try to compose himself.

 

_Poor Lucifer!_ Chloe gazes down at his sleeping figure, at the big white wing draped over his body. No wonder he keeps the heat turned up in the penthouse and wears three-piece suits when most people are in shorts and flip-flops.

 

“Father’s anger was boundless and terrifying to behold, but I braved it. I knelt down and prayed for His anger to end so that He might act with mercy and compassion. I _begged_ for my brother’s life. Father adored Luci, His Child of Light, His Shining One, He gave him everything, every luxury, every gift, but that only made the betrayal all the more painful and bitter, like when a pampered pet turns suddenly and without warning sinks its teeth deep into its master. Father was quick to remind me that I was in no position to beg favors. He knew I had been with Luci, and that our conduct was blameless, but that did not negate the fact that I chose to spend the night in my brother’s bed the night before he led a rebellion against our father, a rebellion I knew was going to happen, and how others might see it and judge us. In the end, it was all about loyalty, choices, and appearances.”

 

“Kind of like if General Lee and General Grant spent the night together before the Battle of Gettysburg and said all they did was rub each other’s backs before they went to sleep,” Chloe surmises.

 

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Amenadiel agrees. “Even those who believed in our innocence condemned the choices that I made. But they blamed Luci for them—choices _I_ made! Father ultimately decided that Hell rather than a soul-destroying death would be Luci’s fate, so the Child of Light was cast into darkness. Much later, He allowed me to understand that it was not entirely a punishment. Father meant to teach Lucifer a lesson, that to rule is no easy task. No king is ever entirely loved or understood, each in his own way faces criticism, hatred, and slander. Father felt the Rebellion had been undertaken rashly, in a spirit of juvenile discontent, by a spoiled and petulant child. He believed that Luci was too hotheaded and impetuous, that even if he had been the victor it would not have ended well for him because he lacked the foresight to govern wisely, but would have been too proud to accept advice or ask for help. Hell was to be Lucifer’s own kingdom and classroom, and trial and error would be his tutors; he would learn on his own from his mistakes and successes.”

 

“But did your father, or anyone, bother to explain _any_ of this to him? Did _you_ tell him, Amenadiel? Or was he supposed to figure it out all by himself?” Chloe asks angrily. It makes her boiling mad that Lucifer was treated like this. Yeah, maybe his father meant to teach him a lesson, maybe He wanted him to be more independent and learn to be a just and wise king, but it’s really shitty and just plain cruel the way He went about it. “Do any of you realize how much it hurt him? How damaged he is inside? He thinks he’s evil, that he doesn’t deserve to be loved!”

 

“Yes, I do realize, Chloe, _I_ realize it better than anyone! I have known my brother a _lot_ longer than you have!” _Or ever will!_ Amenadiel bites his tongue before the last three words come out, to say them would be too cruel. He forces himself to stop and take a deep breath to keep his anger in check. “I know better than anyone what Luci was like before, and what he became after, his Fall. I see _all_ the scars, even the ones that don’t show! Yours is not the only heart that this story breaks! And while I can see a certain wisdom in my father’s plan, I have _never_ agreed with the execution of it. _I_ was the one who was used to taking care of Luci when he was upset, I knew what to do, and what he needed—gentleness, reassurances, patience, and explanations—but Father made it quite clear that He didn’t welcome my counsel. By the time I was able to talk to Lucifer again, it was already too late; he was so angry, hard, and bitter that I couldn’t reach him...If I had gotten to him in time…this might be a different story.”

 

He pauses and draws a deep, ragged breath.

 

“Lucifer wasn’t the only one who was punished, Chloe. As First Emissary, just as I presided over every ceremony of justice or jubilation as God’s Voice and Presence, since our father has no physical form, I had to read the proclamation condemning my brother to Hell…”

 

“ _Oh! No! No!_ ” Chloe shakes her head in horror. The person Lucifer loved most, the one who loved him most, was the one who sent him to Hell. The love didn’t just die, it was murdered! How could any father be so cruel? How could He do that to His sons?

 

Amenadiel struggles to regain control. He knows he has to finish this story, it needs to be told.

 

“I _begged_ to be relieved of my duty, or at least to be allowed to talk to Luci first so that he would understand, but Father refused. I was there, because I had to be, not because I wanted to be. I felt I had no choice, Chloe. Father had changed His mind once, when He decided to spare Lucifer’s life, and He could change it again, back to execution, obliteration, instead of banishment. So I did what I had to do, but I also disobeyed my father, and for that I was punished too. I was not allowed to see my brother again for a thousand years.”

 

“Oh, Amenadiel…I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” Chloe reaches for his hand.

 

But he doesn’t even hear her or feel her touch. His eyes are lost beneath the shimmer of tears and his mind is far away, eons past, back in a place he never wanted to be, reliving every horrible, pain-filled moment of it.

 

“The Ceremony of Extreme Justice is called _Baltim_. It is not only a ceremony of punishment, but also of shame and humiliation. All assemble in the marble pillared Hall of Justice, mounted high upon a precipice overlooking the mouth of Hell. For the Glory of God, they wear their finest robes, their jewels, and gold and silver sandals. Servants circulate offering wine and silver platters heaped with dates and figs, olives, berries, and honey cakes to symbolize the Bounty of God. The condemned is brought in barefoot and unwashed, chained and shackled, wearing only the robe of a penitent—coarse, rough, filthy striped linen. I stood upon a silver dais, wearing a red robe to represent the Might and Fury of God. Lucifer was forced to kneel before me. Ritual required the condemned to kiss the hem of my robe, to show they accept God’s judgment with meekness and humility. But when the Gaoler put his hand on the back of Luci’s head, to push him down, I shook my head and motioned for him to desist. I could not bear to have my brother bow to me even in the robes representing our father. That was the first rule I broke. Everyone was still whispering about it while I read the proclamation banishing Lucifer to Hell, though at the same time bestowing upon him the dignity and majesty of a king’s crown. I held the parchment scroll up high, to hide my face from the crowd, so no one could see what it cost me to pronounce those words. But I only pretended to read it; I had memorized it, because I knew that tears would surely blind me, and they did. I had to fight to keep the tears from my voice, to keep it steady and strong, but I know, despite my efforts, it still wavered and shook. Everyone was watching me, watching us, but Luci wouldn’t even look at me. He never lowered his head, he was too proud for that, but he stared straight past me as though I wasn’t even there. After the proclamation was read, I was supposed to hand the scroll to the _noco_ —” seeing Chloe’s confusion at this unfamiliar word, he quickly explains, “celestial servant—Father created them to serve the Heavenly Host, they’re soulless, supernaturally strong, and to a certain extent invulnerable, but not immortal, they live long but can die under certain circumstances, though not as easily as mortals, and they don’t have wings.”

 

“Kind of like the heavenly version of demons?” Chloe asks.

 

“Exactly,” Amenadiel confirms. “After giving the scroll to my attendant, I was supposed to take the great silver shears and descend from the dais and…but I couldn’t do it. There was an awkward pause, everyone was whispering, the _noco_ was confused and kept bowing and offering the shears to me…but I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—take them. Finally, I gestured for the Gaoler to do it. There was pleasure, _real_ pleasure, in his eyes as he jerked Luci to his feet. He was only doing his job, but I _hated_ him for it, I wanted to break him in two! That filthy penitent’s robe was cut away, and Luci was forced to stand naked, wearing only his chains, which hid nothing, while everyone else was clothed. But he refused to cower in shame, despite the hostility and even hatred in the eyes of those around him. He just stood there, still as a statue, staring straight ahead, straight past me. Then he was commanded to spread his wings; the Gaoler spoke the words, not me, I couldn’t say them. He seemed to take fiendish delight in offering the shears to me, but when I wouldn’t take them, he again acted for me. _No!_ Not for me, _for Father!_ ” Amendadiel says furiously as a fresh torrent of tears falls down his face.

 

“Luci’s wings weren’t just clipped, they were _butchered_ , though without bloodshed, only his feathers—the punishment was that he had to fall, so he couldn’t be allowed to fly. I knew he would be fully restored before even an hour had passed, but… All I could think about was the last time I groomed his wings. He was lying on his bed with his wings spread, staring up at the stars through the crystal ceiling, when I came in. He looked a little nervous at first; I could tell he was wondering if I was there in my official capacity about the Rebellion. But then I said _Fetharsi_ , and his face lit up with the most radiant, joyful smile, and he immediately said it back, and wiggled into my arms like a happy, eager puppy. I can still feel his fingers in my feathers.”

 

He takes a moment to fight back the tears.

 

“And I could tell, the way their eyes kept going back and forth between Luci and me, watching me watching him, watching him ignoring me, that everyone else was thinking about that night too and what they imagined happened. As every feather fell, I could feel it slipping through my fingers, the hard shafts and silky barbs, fluffy, cloud-soft down, the slickness of preening oil as it lubricated each feather and warmed and softened his skin, and how contented and relaxed he was beneath my hands...If only I could have stopped time…”

 

He draws another deep, shuddering breath.

 

“The Gaoler cut away so much that his wings were truly naked. Everyone saw the pale and quivering flesh beneath, the skin that until then no one but Luci and I had ever touched. Shaming by revealing it even has a name— _rilamazal-jonam_ , more naked than naked. I saw goose pimples rise on that vulnerable skin and I knew that he was cold—Luci has always been very sensitive to cold—he was fighting not to shiver, so no one would think he was shaking with fear. I wanted to go to him and wrap him in my wings. I would have torn off my robe and given it to him if I could. I felt so helpless; powerless and afraid that Father would punish Luci even more for _my_ disobedience—my very public disobedience. All I could think was how little power and position truly mean when you cannot protect the person you love most. I wanted to rip that red robe off, for the first time I wasn’t proud to wear it, to be the Voice and Presence of God. Then the Gaoler began to laugh and taunt him. ‘Oh how the mighty have fallen!’ he sneered. ‘The Morning Star doesn’t shine as brightly now!’ Such taunting was part of the ritual, but I didn’t care. Before I knew what I was doing, I shouted at him ‘Be Silent! You will not address the Archangel Lucifer in that manner!’ My brother Uriel was so shocked he choked on a fig and Gabriel blew wine, and several of my sisters fainted. What I had done was unprecedented—I had spoken as myself during _Baltim_ , I had put myself, my heart, before my sacred duty as the Voice and Presence of God.”

 

Chloe gazes down at Lucifer. _Someone once loved you so much that he defied God for you_. _But you’re so angry and hurt and shattered inside you can’t even see it!_

 

“The Gaoler set about finishing his work, he forced Luci to his knees, but his eyes were on me, gloating and filled with the most fiendish glee…”Amenadiel stops abruptly and looks at Chloe. “Of course, you’ve never seen…My little brother looked very different in those days; he had a cloud of curls, a wealth of natural ringlets that spilled down to his shoulders like black corkscrews. Those curls made him look younger, softer, impish and innocent at the same time, and later made him the darling of so many Renaissance painters. Luci was forced to kneel before me again and the Gaoler sheared his curls to the scalp. When the Gaoler reached down to pull him back up, to drag him to the platform from which he was to be pushed, Luci grabbed his throat and threw him to the far end of the hall, cracking one of the marble columns. He folded his useless wings away, and then he looked at me with such anger and _hatred_ in his eyes. He flung his chains at my feet—that was the moment he found his power to defy any lock—and he stood there, proud and defiant, staring at me, his eyes blazing with hate. _Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven!_ he shouted and then he jumped, straight down into the raging inferno of Hell.”


	6. Chapter Six

Chloe can’t even see for all her tears. In her mind’s eye, she keeps seeing a vivid and heartbreaking picture of Lucifer, stripped and shorn of all his glory, mistaking his brother’s love for betrayal, and taking a suicidal swan-dive into Hell, juxtaposed with the radiant, curly-haired angel so joyfully embracing his brother, so happy and eager to love and be loved. Amenadiel must be haunted by the same images.

 

“Afterwards, I went back to Lucifer’s palace, the finest and most beautiful in the Silver City, it still stands untouched, as though it’s waiting for him to come back. The walls are all wrought of silver, but the ceilings are crystal, etched and frosted, but also clear in certain places so he could lie in his bed or on the ermine rug by the fireplace and gaze up at his stars. The night before the Rebellion, I went openly to my brother’s palace; I did not sneak in like a thief in the night, nor did I creep out with the dawn, and after he was banished I went back in the same manner. I didn’t care who saw me or what they thought. I tore off that red robe as though it burned my skin, and I lay in his bed and cried until the stars came out. The whole sky was like a glittering blanket of diamonds spread out above me. So many people forget that the angel who became the Devil put the stars in the sky,” Amenadiel laments. “That was the moment it hit me that in Hell their light could no longer reach him, just like I could no longer reach him, and I cried all the harder. When the dawn came, I saw the bright Morning Star, brightest of the bright, and it was as though I could still feel Luci’s head resting on my shoulder, his curls tickling the crook of my neck, and the warmth of his skin, like velvet on a cold night. I remembered him stirring sleepily against me as the sun rose on that last morning, and the words he whispered to me, ‘ _Vadol capimao, Esiasch_ —Stop time, Brother,’ even though he knew I couldn’t; he was warm and content and he always hated to get up early. And I wrapped him in my wings; I just wanted to keep him safe.”

 

“I know you did,” Chloe reaches out sympathetically, “you did the best you could. But I don’t understand—How could your father be so cruel? To do _that_ …to _both_ of you!”

 

“I don’t know, Chloe.” Amenadiel shrugs and shakes his head. “Father is…enigmatic, vague, confounding, He can be very kind or He can be very cruel. Sometimes silence is His only answer, and sometimes His silence is better than an answer. I asked—I asked Him many times and many things—but He never answered, or else the silence was His answer.”

 

Lucifer fluffs his feathers and Chloe quickly soothes him. That little purring sound he makes is just adorable! “You’re just a big pet, aren’t you?” She smiles down at him through her tears.

 

_Pet!_ She’s struck suddenly by something Amenadiel said earlier. He compared Lucifer’s rebellion to a pet turning suddenly upon its master. God’s parenting style reminds Chloe of showdog owners who lavish their pedigreed darlings with every luxury but leave their everyday care to a retinue of handlers while they, the proud pet parents, only show up in the winner’s circle to accept the blue ribbons and trophies. Amenadiel was Lucifer’s confidant and comfort, his playmate and protector, the one who truly loved him. Did the father come to resent that? Or did the scandal spark a genuine concern that perhaps they had grown too close? Or was the worry rooted more in politics? Although Chloe personally believes him, it’s glaringly obvious that Amenadiel could be seen as silently complicit in Lucifer’s rebellion since he did nothing to stop it, and her mind can’t help making the next leap—if the two of them had been actively plotting together to overthrow their father the end result might have been very different. If she, a human police detective eons after the event, can see that then surely it crossed God’s mind too. Maybe breaking the bond between them was His version of divide and conquer.

 

Lucifer stirs and murmurs softly in his sleep, “ _bliard taqanis_.”

 

“What’s he saying?” Chloe asks.

 

“Comfort me with olives,” Amenadiel translates with a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

 

“Oh! Um…okay…Do you think he’s hungry? There should be some olives behind the bar. Maybe we should wake him up and feed him?” But Lucifer is already curling up on his side again and his dark head butts gently against her stomach as he settles down again. “Or maybe not,” Chloe shrugs and strokes his feathers. “So what happened next?”

 

“I was not left to grieve for long. As First Emissary, my services were required, and Father would not allow me ‘to shirk my duty to wallow in grief or to hide from slander.’ So I got up and did what I had to do. I hid my misery beneath the cloak of duty and hoped it would help the time pass quicker. You may think, as old as we are, that a thousand years is nothing to us, like a single raindrop falling into the ocean, but I can assure you, I felt every excruciating second of it. Time never dragged so slowly for me, not even when I was its Master. Since Father continued to trust me as First Emissary, the treasonous implications of my visit were for the most part forgotten. Everyone was much more interested in what had happened in Lucifer’s bedchamber…”

 

Chloe nods sympathetically. She has only the vaguest knowledge of prayers and Bible verses, but, for her at least, this gives new meaning to the phrase “on Earth, as it is in Heaven.” Humans and angels alike devouring the juicy, meaty bone of scandal, ready, even eager, to believe the worst. A host of angels…more like a host of hypocrites and hyenas!

 

“My siblings sat around in the sun eating figs and honey cakes, lounging on the balconies of their palaces, endlessly dissecting the Act of Love as though it were a dead thing, debating what we had and hadn’t done, and spinning their lurid fantasies,” Amenadiel recalls bitterly. “Even those who should have known better, the ones who were acknowledged preening pairs, like Luci and I were… even they couldn’t see past his lost innocence and what they imagined that meant. He was gone, but I was still there, on the winning side, and still to all appearances high in Father’s favor, so they made excuses for me—excuses I neither wanted nor welcomed, painting me as an innocent victim, duped and seduced. But I kept silent, even though I was _screaming_ inside. I talked to no one about Luci. I knew anything I said would be twisted and turned against him, so I ignored those who tried to bait me, to draw me into fights or trick me into divulging confidences; I refused to feed the bonfire of scandal. My silence made many think that I regretted my actions and that helped redeem me in their eyes. But _nothing_ could be further from the truth! It was Luci I was worried about, though strong he was also fragile, and I was still trying to protect him. Many nights I would sit alone in the Hall of Justice with my legs dangling off the precipice and stare down into the flaming mouth of Hell, fearing what festering anger and the passage of time would do. ‘Come back to me and forgive me for what I had to do,’ I used to whisper over and over like a prayer, even though I knew he could no longer hear my prayers, until words and tears blurred together. A thousand years was too long, I needed to be there to help pick up the pieces, to comb the ashes from his wings, to comfort him and explain…”

 

Chloe glances guiltily down at her hands nestled knuckle-deep in white feathers. She wants to take Amenadiel’s hand and guide it to Lucifer’s wing.  Her heart is breaking for both of them.

 

“I missed my brother deeply, every night and every day, especially on those silent mornings; I was so used to waking up to Luci’s chatter. He had a habit of coming to my palace late at night, after I was already asleep and whatever party he had been to had ended, and I would wake up and find him nestled next to me, with his head on my shoulder and his fingers in my feathers, wanting his back scratched, or complaining about a feather that was bothering him, or just wanting to talk or play. So many mornings the first thing I would see when I opened my eyes was his smile, his eyes flashing with mischief, and that halo of bouncing black curls. We would play-wrestle and roll all over the bed, and even up on the ceiling, in a tangle of limbs and wings, laughing the whole time. Sometimes we’d go to our favorite waterfall to swim and sunbathe, or just lie in my bed and talk before the business of the day began…”

 

Chloe can’t help but smile; his words are like a time machine that gives her a glimpse of a Lucifer she’s never seen before—a happy and relaxed, loved and loving Lucifer who doesn’t shy away from hugs or run away from emotions. She’s reminded of her own cherished bedtime ritual of tucking Trixie in for storytime and snuggling. It makes her heart glad to know that Lucifer once had something like that too, but it breaks her heart to know how cruelly it was taken away from him and perverted and twisted to be used as a weapon against him when he was already knocked down and wounded. Of all the things she thought might have happened to Lucifer, to explain what made him the way he is, she never envisioned anything even half so heartbreaking as this.

 

“Everyone thought I was so solemn and serious, but Luci always made me laugh, he was so bright and lively; he had a way of making me see things with fresh eyes. I’d tell him about my missions to Earth to smite the slugs Mom had sent to attack Father’s favorite barley field or to liberate a man from a whale’s stomach…”

 

“Jonah?” Chloe asks excitedly. When Trixie was three, Dan’s Catholic parents, hoping to give their grandchild a nudge towards God, had given her a DVD of cartoon Bible stories, and Jonah and the Whale fast became her favorite, she watched it at least six times a day. Chloe can still see that crude cartoon whale gobbling up poor Jonah like a big gray Pac-Man with a tail.

 

“Among others; Jonah wasn’t an isolated case. There’s a lot of creative embellishments and selective editing in the Bible, Chloe. It sounds a lot more miraculous when you don’t know that being swallowed by whales was a common seafaring mishap in those days. It became such a problem that Father eventually had to modify the design. But sometimes He chose to intervene if it happened to a particularly worthy mortal and would send me to command the whale to vomit in the name of the Lord. Luci would always sigh and say ‘Why is it never a shark?’ He always liked the sharks. Sometimes I would take him with me and we’d spend the day at the beach even though it meant we’d have to spend hours washing and grooming our wings to get all the salt and sand out, but that was fun too; a profound experience can also be a playful one.”

 

“It sounds like you two had a lot of fun,” Chloe smiles.

 

“We did, we really did! I still miss those times. Luci would tell me about his visits to Earth and his own work too; it didn’t end with the stars. You see, Chloe, the Lightbringer was not meant only to illuminate the heavens but to help the stars of humanity to shine too. Those of artistic temperament are often sensitive souls who wrestle with a certain darkness within. Many are crippled by melancholy, fears, and doubts, and they often court self-destruction and seek to staunch the pain with drinking, sex, drugs, and other reckless behaviors. To bring forth the light within is often their salvation, but to keep it bottled inside will destroy them and snuff out a light that was meant to shine. Luci has the power to see that light even when no one else can, no matter how great the darkness that surrounds it. And he was very good at it; he helped a lot of people who otherwise might never have found the courage to share their talent with the world, even after he became the Devil. But they forgot...” Amenadiel sighs sadly. “All the good things about Luci were forgotten so quickly, and no one wanted to be reminded, until finally it seemed like I was the only one who remembered the real Lucifer. I saw my little brother become the Devil; a larger than life symbol of evil, both hated and feared, reviled as a cruel and heartless, merciless fiend. Luci who cried and moped for months after Mom killed the dinosaurs. He held the last Brontosaurus’s head on his lap when it died because he didn’t want it to be afraid or alone, and afterwards we sat there, surrounded by the corpses of those gentle giants, and I held him while he cried. The most honest person I ever knew became known as the Father of Lies. No one believed more in consent and free will than he did, yet they called him the Great Seducer, the Trickster, and even numbered me amongst his victims. Every time I heard someone spin the tale of how the Devil seduced Eve in the Garden of Eden, embellishing it more with every passing century, I wanted to strike them. Lies became accepted as truths, maybe because they made better stories, but no one cared…”

 

“I do,” Chloe quickly assures him, “I care.”


	7. Chapter Seven

“He wasn’t even the Devil when he met Eve. Besides all the creative and dramatic flourishes, mistranslations, and selective editing in the Bible—like Delilah, she didn’t cut off Samson’s _hair_ , she cut his _head_ off!—the timeline is a train wreck too, lots of things are out of order, either by intent or accident. Most of the time it really doesn’t matter, but sometimes it does. The seduction in Eden occurred 175 years _before_ the Rebellion. When my father made Eve for Adam he instructed them to ‘be of one flesh,’ and, I assure you, they had been, _many_ times— _I_ know, as First Emissary I was the one who delivered the instructions. It was a mission of some delicacy not to be entrusted to just any angel,” Amenadiel adds proudly. “I drew pictures in the sand to help them understand…”

 

“So you were the first sex education teacher,” Chloe says, unable to suppress a smile.

 

“I never thought of it like that before, but yeah, I guess I was,” Amenadiel grins.

 

“And did you instruct Lucifer too?”

 

“Oh no, we never talked about that until after what happened with Eve. When Luci first heard about Father’s plan for humans to ‘be fruitful and multiply’ he assumed that meant they would grow from trees like fruit; he was completely ignorant about the uh…mating process…”

 

Chloe can’t help but agree with that, but she has to give Lucifer credit for being imaginative.

 

“In hindsight, I suppose I should have taken time to explain, but…things were really difficult between Mom and Dad at the time…Mom had just discovered how much fun volcanoes could be, and Dad was really upset about all that lava, and with one thing and another…setting Luci straight about human reproduction just didn’t seem that urgent. Angels were meant to be chaste, so…it just wasn’t a priority, and he didn’t seem all that interested anyway.”

 

“That’s understandable,” Chloe assures Amenadiel. “I think under the circumstances anyone would have put it on the back burner.” Still, she can’t help thinking— _Lucifer not interested in sex? That’s hard to imagine!_

“I know,” Amenadiel sighs, “but it still makes me sad…Everyone conveniently forgets that Luci was a virgin, an angel from Heaven, who didn’t even know what sex was. Eve was the one with all the experience. But that doesn’t make her a bad person,” he stresses. “Not every story has to have a villain, Chloe. Maybe she didn’t realize how innocent Luci really was, or maybe that was part of the allure? I don’t know; I wasn’t there. And I can’t say Luci was entirely blameless either, he always had a playful and curious nature and that got him into trouble sometimes, but…honestly, things went too far too fast, and the situation just got away from him…”

 

Chloe can’t help thinking that this sounds a lot like a Lifetime Movie, probably because her mother is over the moon with joy at being signed to star in _The Boy Scout Next Door_.

 

It’s all Penelope Decker can talk about. She’ll be playing a still glamorous grandmother, a retired movie star of the va-va-voom blonde bombshell variety, who becomes obsessed with a simple-minded but scrumptiously adorable teenage boy after he rescues her poodle from an escaped boa constrictor.

 

Teen idol Manfred Korelly, the fresh out of rehab former lead singer of the mainstream goth group Midnight Lilith, will be playing the Boy Scout, minus the dead white pancake makeup, heavy black eyeliner, so red it’s black lipstick, tattoos and multiple piercings, of course. He already made the cover of _People_ magazine when he had his purple-streaked black locks lopped off, bleached golden blonde, and tamed into a proper, clean-cut schoolboy haircut. Headlines heralded it as “The Transformation of the Century!” and Manfred posed for a centerfold standing in front of a stained glass window wearing the robes of a Catholic altar boy.  And since the big seduction scene involves baking cookies, Nestlé is doling out _beaucoup_ dollars to have a bag of their chocolate chips prominently featured. There’s also a ‘provocative and intense’ scene where Grandma bathes the Boy Scout after he accidentally gets covered in honey when his scout troop visits an apiary. Afterwards she applies Neosporin Antibiotic Ointment and pink Hello Kitty Band-Aid Brand Adhesive Bandages to his beestings. The implied nudity will of course be very tastefully rendered in accordance with Lifetime’s high production values, Penny has been at pains to reassure her eye-rolling daughter, and “the soapsuds will conceal even as they reveal.” _What does that even mean_? She’s already working intensely with the makeup and wardrobe departments planning to have her hair bleached Pillowcase Platinum and to coordinate her predominately lavender, white, and greige wardrobe, and the Kenneth Jay Lane, Heidi Daus, and Joan Rivers collections are vying to provide the big, bold costume jewelry pieces she’ll need. She’s convinced the movie is destined to become a classic and getting this role is a gift from God. It might even become a franchise like _Stalked by My Doctor_ , and that means sequels!

 

The whole thing makes Chloe glad her acting days are far behind her.

 

“…Mom and Dad were fighting—again—She had blighted His favorite vineyard—again—and I was supposed to go bless it—again—,” Amenadiel recalls tiredly. “Instead I ended up with an armful of quivering feathers. Luci was _hysterical_ ; it took me _hours_ to calm him down. He was confused, upset, and frightened, and knowing how much he had enjoyed the experience only intensified all those other emotions. No angel had ever lost their innocence before, and he was _terrified_ Father was going to do something terrible to punish him. I even had to reassure him that I still loved him. He was shaking and clinging to me the whole time. He was also still really confused about the ‘be fruitful and multiply’ part. He’d discarded his fruit theory since he hadn’t seen any humans growing on trees, and now he was afraid what had happened between him and Eve meant that he was going to have to sit on a nest and hatch a small human from an egg. When I explained to him it didn’t work like that, he remembered a sow he had seen lying in the mud nursing her piglets, and, because he had two nipples, jumped to the conclusion that he would have to spend years lying in the mud suckling two tiny humans. He thought that was even worse than having to hatch an egg and asked me if I thought Father might be merciful and let him choose.”

 

_Wow_! This is certainly not how Chloe would have imagined Lucifer’s introduction to sex! Given how enthusiastically he’s embraced it, she just naturally assumed it would have been all thrills and zero trauma. But, she has to admit, Lucifer thinking he might be pregnant is priceless. Really— _eggs and piglets_? It’s frickin’ hilarious!

 

“I know,” Amenadiel chuckles, “it really is funny, but if you had seen him…He was a bundle of tears, nerves, and feathers! I didn’t get to the vineyard until well after dark, and I had to take Luci with me. But I was always glad I did. While I was blessing the vines he found some fireflies to play with. They were attracted to the light of his wings. He was calm and happy then, and forgot his fears for a little while, spinning and floating in the sky with his wings covered in fireflies like hundreds of twinkling lights. Whenever I’ve visited Earth and seen white Christmas trees decorated with warm white lights I always think of Luci and those fireflies. Afterwards, I took him home, groomed his wings, and he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder, wrapped in my wings. And that’s the true story of how the big bad Devil seduced poor Eve.”

 

Chloe is completely enchanted by the vision his words conjure of Lucifer frolicking in the sky with fireflies. It makes her think of that old Beatles song _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_. It’s so beautiful, sweet, and surreal; no wonder Amenadiel treasures the memory.

 

In their moment of shared silence, Amenadiel recalls the morning after.

 

***

 

“Don’t go, Brother, it’s too early to get up!”

 

“Now, Luci, you know I have to; Mom caused another mudslide and Dad wants me to....”

 

“A mudslide? Can I come with you?”

 

“Can I trust you to stay out of the mud?”

 

After a long thoughtful pause, Lucifer shook his head and answered with a truthful, sullen:  “No.”

 

“Well…I suppose there’s no _real_ reason why you shouldn’t play, but promise me you’ll remember this conversation when I’m scrubbing the mud out of your wings.”

 

“Deal!”

 

“Deal! Come on then, let’s go…”

 

Lucifer shook his head and mischievously reached out a wing to nudge Amenadiel back into bed. “Not yet!”

 

“All right, just a little while longer…Brat!” he fondly accused when Lucifer immediately commandeered his shoulder to serve as his pillow again.

 

“Prig!” Lucifer shot back affectionately.

 

“Yeah, I love you just as much as you love me.”

 

“I know,” Lucifer shut his eyes and nuzzled happily against his brother’s chest, fingers deep in dusky feathers, and Amenadiel’s fingers lazily combed through the radiant whiteness, provoking a purr of contentment from deep inside Lucifer’s throat. And the mud was left to bake in the sun as they drifted back to sleep.

 

***

 

“And did your dad punish him?” Chloe asks, breaking the silence.

 

Amenadiel just shrugs. “Like so much Dad does, that’s open to interpretation. He never said a word about it. Maybe His silence was the punishment. Or maybe He didn’t intend any punishment at all. Perhaps the punishment was the way his loss of innocence set Lucifer apart from other angels. Or maybe He meant for Luci to punish himself with all the fear and uncertainty he endured. God only knows!”

 

Chloe shakes her head. The more she hears about God the more she wonders how He ever got the reputation for being a loving father. 

 

“When we were commanded to put on robes, Luci was very upset, he loved being naked and thought Father was punishing everyone because of what he’d done. And maybe He was,” Amenadiel shrugs. “But I chose not to dwell on that possibility; Luci was already upset enough, and it wouldn’t help or change anything. Instead, I reassured him that he could still be naked in the private rooms of our palaces, in bed, and while bathing, which could probably safely be stretched to include swimming and sunbathing. Father gave him a wardrobe full of the most beautiful robes in the Silver City, all made of soft, silky fabrics that would feel heavenly against his skin, woven with thin threads of silver or gold so that he sparkled all the more, so even though his loss of innocence diminished him in the eyes of some, he was still the most dazzling angel to behold. When Luci saw those robes, I had to restrain him from ripping them to ribbons. He raged, wept, and laughed hysterically until he was so exhausted he could barely breathe, and then he spent hours lying with his head in my lap while I stroked his wings. He didn’t know whether those robes were meant to comfort or chastise him, to be a silent rebuke, a constant reminder of how, and why, things had changed, and because of that perpetual uncertainty he _hated_ them. Every time he put one on, no matter how beautiful he looked, he couldn’t wait to take it off, he felt like he couldn’t breathe in them.”

 

_Poor thing_! Chloe is starting to understand that Lucifer’s joyful, unabashed nudity is more than proud and vain exhibitionism. Like an animal, he’s most comfortable in his own skin; on a subconscious level being naked probably reminds him of a more innocent, carefree time before everything went wrong in his life.

 

“He was miserable, Chloe! After that, he became more high-strung, wary and discontent. Everything Father said or didn’t say, or did or didn’t do, felt like a mind-game to Lucifer. I knew he wasn’t happy, but I didn’t know what to do for him. The Silver City was the only home Lucifer had ever known, but it no longer felt like a home to him, and that scared him; and it scared me too. Though outwardly his position hadn’t altered, he knew how others regarded him had. He learned that it is possible to be both desired and feared, to be part of a world yet set apart from it. I was the only one he could relax and feel safe with, everyone else made him feel like a venerated pariah, a gilded idol perched high upon a pedestal, shining like a beacon of desire—adore but fear, look but don’t touch! I was the only one who still touched and wasn’t afraid. I didn’t idolize my brother, I didn’t let his brightness blind me to his faults; I just loved him.”

 

“You gave him what he needed.” Chloe strokes Lucifer’s dark hair and white feathers, and even though he doesn’t hear her, she tells him “You’ve forgotten everything you need to remember.”


	8. Chapter Eight

Over fresh cups of coffee Amenadiel finishes his story.

 

“After a thousand years had passed, I was allowed to visit Lucifer in Hell. He received me in his throne room, scepter in hand, wearing his black and red royal robes and ruby-encrusted crown of blackened Hell steel entwined with silver and gold. Leather and armor clad demons surrounded his throne. It was so different from that fateful morning when we stood on the balcony of his palace, with our wings flowing behind us like feathered cloaks, eating honey cakes and berries and watching the sunrise. I warned him not to get berry juice on his wings, there was a lot of trouble in Sodom and Gomorrah and I was constantly back and forth on business for Father, so I didn’t have time to scrub him. And we were laughing, remembering the time he fell in a vat of wine and his wings turned purple, and all the hours we spent scrubbing them white again. And before I left he hugged me and wrapped his wings around me and said ‘Please be safe, Brother.’ And I knew he loved me. But now he sat on his throne, a regal stranger, remote and cold, using his demons like a shield, treating me with disdain and yawning boredom. He refused to see me alone and wouldn’t even speak to me directly. He told one of his demons to ‘Please inform the First Emissary of God that his request for a private audience with the King of Hell is denied.’ But I stood my ground, I got as close to him as his demons would allow, I leaned over their crossed halberds of Hell steel, and I said _Fetharsi_. I had waited a thousand years to say it and _nothing_ was going to stop me. But Lucifer stood up and walked out without a backward glance.”

 

_Too long, too late_ …Chloe sighs. His anger and pain had been left to fester untreated, without the balm of tenderness, too long.

 

“I went back again the very next day, and I kept going back. I went to Hell every chance I could. I went willingly into that place where no one wants to go. Sometimes I saw the face of the Devil, all scarlet and scarred, sometimes I saw the face of an angel, but regardless of what visage Lucifer showed me, I looked at him with the same eyes, he was always my brother, and I loved him. I would stand before his throne and talk to him for hours, casting off my pride and baring my naked soul before his demons since he refused to see me in private. But Lucifer just sat and stared straight past me. He never gave even the slightest indication that he heard me. He never laughed, smiled or wept; I couldn’t even rouse him to anger. If I tried to touch him, his demons would block me. And when he had had enough of ignoring me, and torturing me with his indifference, Lucifer would simply stand up and walk out, and his demon valet would step forward and inform me that ‘the audience is over.’”

 

Too stubborn, hurt, and proud to listen, instead of reclaiming the love he needed and deserved, Lucifer compounded his own tragedy by choosing to reject it and turn that love into a form of torture. But did he or didn’t he realize, Chloe wonders, that he was also punishing himself.

 

“Finally I had to face the truth; the Luci I knew and loved was lost to me, I couldn’t bring him back, no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how hard I tried. I failed at the one thing that mattered most to me. So I stopped going. I had to, Chloe. It hurt too much. My heart was broken into so many pieces I felt like it would never be whole again, and even if it did heal, it would only be held together by a tissue of scars. Our other siblings never visited him at all. So, in a way, it is true, we all abandoned him.”

 

Chloe can see how heavily the guilt weighs upon Amenadiel’s soul. He’d tried so hard to get through to Lucifer; he literally went to Hell for his brother. But a person can go on waiting and hoping only for so long, eventually everyone has to move on, just like she’d tried to do with Pierce after Lucifer pushed her away.

 

“Centuries passed with nothing but silence between us. Sometimes on my missions to Earth I would catch glimpses of him. I would see him with various women and men who were obviously his lovers—lovers without love,” Amenadiel adds bitterly. “I could tell none of them mattered to him. He grew jaded and bored, and surrounded himself with people as though he feared silence and solitude, and he drank more wine than ever before. There was a different party every night, a different body, or bodies, warming his bed, but never his heart or soul. They were charmed and dazzled by him, and many wanted favors, but none of them cared anything about him. There was no love in any of those beds. Before the Rebellion, Luci had sex because it was fun and it felt good, and he was curious about humans. His interest I felt was completely in keeping with that of a healthy young man who enjoyed the act of sex but had formed no particular attachment to a single partner; it was similar to the habits I observed in human males of like circumstances. But after a thousand years in Hell, when he was allowed to visit Earth again, there was a frantic quality to these encounters. It was more than simply making up for lost time, it was as though he was searching for something and rushing through as many partners as possible trying desperately to find it.”

 

 Chloe gets it; when Lucifer is upset he buries whatever is bothering him as deep as he can beneath an avalanche of alcohol, drugs, and sex. It’s obvious to her now that when this started Lucifer was trying to find a substitute for something that couldn’t be replaced. He just couldn’t admit it and was too stubborn to stop trying, and eventually the truth got lost, or buried, along the way.

 

“Then one day Father made me my brother’s keeper, and it became my task to escort Lucifer back to Hell whenever he tarried too long on Earth. He would always sulk and insist he needed more time for some reason or another. But he always came with me without too much fuss; all I had to do was remind him that he could either deal with me or with Father. And at least we were speaking again instead of through demon intermediaries. Things were generally civil, if cold, between us. By then I had begun to treat him as he treated me. I tried to convince myself that if I didn’t matter to Lucifer, then Lucifer didn’t matter to me. I was hurt and angry too. I wanted to be numb, to deaden my feelings, so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. But…sometimes there would be moments when we would share a smile, a joke, or laughter, and one of us, without thinking, would reach out and touch the other. For one brief moment it was as though we were seeing the ghost of ourselves, of how we used to be. In spite of myself, I lived for those moments, always hoping that this time would be different and that it would last for more than a moment…”

 

Yep, Chloe knows all about those moments and what it’s like hoping they’d become more, the dizzying, painful confusion of being wanted and then not wanted, and of trying to forget and go on with her life, to try to find some happiness even if it was with someone else. Yeah, even though it’s a different kind of relationship, Chloe gets it.

 

“But then Luci would realize what had just happened and slam the door in my face again. It was as though he felt the need to punish me because something buried deep inside him had found its way to the surface again. And I wanted to punish him for punishing me. Hate—or the appearance of it—had become a habit between us, and I felt like all we ever did was punish each other. Sometimes we fought and said terrible things to each other. But the fire always burned out quickly, it seemed neither of us really cared enough to keep it going. By that time we had both forgotten how to say _Fetharsi_. I had said it so many times while he just ignored me that my pride would not allow me to say it again. And that’s the way it’s been for millennia—long periods of coldness and indifference punctuated by fights and hope-rousing moments. Actually,” Amenadiel concedes, “there has been a slight improvement in recent years, and we have been a little closer since I realized Lucifer is my test…”

 

“ _Stop!_ ” Chloe holds up her hand. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Didn’t you hear what he said when he lost control earlier? He said you never loved him, that you were only here because he’s your test.”

 

“But that isn’t true! Father once accused me of loving Luci more than…”

 

“Then _tell him!_ Make him understand that he means more to you than any test! Everything you did, you did for him, and he needs to know that.”

 

_Just like you need to know everything he’s done for you_ , Amenadiel says silently. But he knows that’s not his story to tell. He and Lucifer have their own story, a rich and varied past spanning billions of years, in which they’ve loved each other and fought like lions and put up walls of ice and fire between each other. They found their perfect balance long ago, and maybe they’ll find it again, maybe they’ll go back and get what they left behind and then go forward, but Lucifer and Chloe’s story is still fresh and new, the ink hasn’t yet dried upon the page.

 

Chloe’s phone starts buzzing, but that was bound to happen. It left her alone a lot longer than she expected, but…duty calls, reality intrudes. She’s still a police detective and she can’t just run away from an active crime scene.

 

“You know, Amenadiel, some memories aren’t meant to stay buried, that’s why they keep coming back to the surface. You both need to deal with this. Just…send the elephant to a sanctuary already! I think you’d both be a lot happier.”

 

Dan is calling again and she carefully eases Lucifer’s head off her lap and leaves the bedroom to take the call.

 

Lucifer shifts fitfully on the bed, seeking the now absent comfort of Chloe’s lap. When he rolls too near the edge, Amenadiel reaches out to keep him from falling off. Startled by the sudden near plunge and last second save, Lucifer’s wings flap, alarmed and irritably. Chloe tenses, fearing another tantrum. Their voices are too soft to carry, but that storm seems to have passed, at least for now. Only half-listening to Dan, she watches as Lucifer sits up, rubs his face and neck, and rolls his shoulders. This time his wings disappear inside his back. After a moment, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, but they’re still wobbly, and he seems genuinely grateful for Amenadiel’s help. The brothers disappear through the doorway leading to the bathroom and Chloe gives her full attention back to Dan.

 

***

 

Keeping one ear cocked for the sound of shouting and shattering glass, Chloe sits at Lucifer’s desk, organizing her thoughts and writing down her version of the day’s events, the story her partner will need to back-up when he gives his statement. She knows Lucifer doesn’t lie, so she tries to keep details to a minimum and come up with something they can both be comfortable with, emphasizing the confusion created by machine guns and smoke. Surely there’s a doctor who owes Lucifer a favor, someone willing to confirm that he’s “being treated at home by his personal physician for smoke inhalation and a soft tissue back injury” to explain his conspicuous absence from the crime scene.

 

She’s checking the time on her phone again when she hears them return to the bedroom. She’s relieved not to see any blood or obvious injuries. Maybe it’s silly of her to worry, after all they have gone four billion years without killing each other, and deep down she knows they really do love each other, but Lucifer’s meltdown is not something she’s going to forget anytime soon.

 

Lucifer, clad in a clean pair of black silk shorts, looks better, but exhausted from the effort, and he’s leaning heavily against Amenadiel. His dark hair is damp and wild, and his skin has that dewy, fresh from the shower look. Amenadiel’s blue robe sticks damply to his skin; he must have gotten in the shower too, to keep Lucifer from falling down. The slowness of their steps and the way Lucifer stops, shuts his eyes, and holds his head suggests he’s suffering from waves of occasional dizziness.

 

Amenadiel quickly turns back the bedcovers and Lucifer gratefully crawls across to his preferred side. He shuts his eyes and clutches the covers tight. Amenadiel leans down and tucks the covers more securely around Lucifer’s shoulders and hips, and then he sits, talking softly to him. Chloe catches only one word of their softly murmured exchange, a word that sounds like ‘Lucifitas,’ but she’s been tucking her own child into bed long enough to recognize ‘good night’ and ‘sweet dreams’ regardless of the actual words or language they’re spoken in. Amenadiel taps off the globe-shaped bedside lamp so it won’t shine in Lucifer’s eyes, but leaves the one on the empty side of the bed glowing, and then comes out to join Chloe.

 

“I have to go back to the precinct for awhile and then see about Trixie,” she explains, “hopefully she can spend the night with Dan or my mom. I want to come back and stay with him tonight if I can…” She looks past him at Lucifer. She’d like to kiss him goodnight, just in case something prevents her from coming back, to give him some reassurance, but she doesn’t want to disturb him now that Amenadiel has got him settled; he’s clearly not feeling well and needs to rest. She gives Amenadiel the statement she’s written out, “just in case” so Lucifer can study it when he’s feeling better, and explains about the need for a doctor.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” he promises.

 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She’s about to leave when curiosity gets the better of her. “That name you called him when you were tucking him in—Lucifitas?—is that another version of his name?”

 

“No, not exactly, but his name is derived from it. In the Tongue of Angels _lucifitas_ is an endearment, it means ‘bright one.’ When Luci was born the first name our father gave him was Samael, which he loathes. But when I first saw him I called him _lucifitas_ , so he’s always been Luci to me.”

 

Chloe glances down at, but ignores, her beeping phone. She’s curious and a few more minutes won’t make any difference.

 

“Are angels born the same way as humans?”

 

“No, our parents are beings of light, they have no physical bodies like Luci and I, and our siblings, do. When each of us was born, a sphere of light appeared in the sky, it exploded in a burst of light, and an angel emerged, fully formed. When we speak of being ‘little’ or ‘young’ we mean it as a measure of experience or knowledge, not physical development. Luci was the lastborn, but the light that heralded his birth didn’t dissipate, it was absorbed by his wings. The world was still dark then, but he lit up the night. It was clear from the first moment that he was special. All of my brothers and sisters started calling and beckoning to him, vying to be the first to touch him. But he was nervous of such a crowd. So I stood very still, and when he looked at me, I held out my hand and said ‘Come, bright one.’ And he did. He came to me.”

 

_So he was always yours first,_ _even before God, the father, who made him. Even in the name he took—he rejected Samael and chose Lucifer._

 

“Father hadn’t created the Silver City—Heaven—yet, but He made warm, soft clouds for His children to sleep upon. My siblings slept alone, in pairs, or piled up like puppies, and everyone wanted Luci to join them on their cloud. But he disliked all the clamoring voices and grabbing hands reaching out to tweak his curls and touch his wings, some even tried to pluck out a feather so they might have a little of his light for themselves. He folded away his bright wings so their light wouldn’t keep everyone awake and curled up beside me on my cloud. But he was restless, and after a little while he lifted up my wing and wiggled underneath it and into my arms. He fell asleep with his head on my shoulder. At dawn, Father woke him with the words ‘Let there be light!’ And he flew up high and spun in ever faster, dizzying circles, skeins of golden light emanating from his wings, like winding a ball of yarn, and so the sun was born. He returned to my cloud and collapsed fevered and exhausted. Father gave me a great shell, like a basin, filled with water, and a sponge culled from the sea He had created. And I bathed Luci to comfort him and cool his fever and stayed beside him while he slept. And that evening he arose and made the moon. He lit it with a gentler, softer silver light, and spent the rest of the night spangling the sky with stars. His light was somewhat diminished after that, but had it not been, no human eyes would have ever been able to look at him without being instantly blinded. He returned to my cloud at dawn, completely exhausted and covered in stardust, and collapsed in my arms and slept for three days while I watched over him. And when he woke up, I fed him olives and groomed his wings.”

 

_Whoa!_ Chloe feels like her mind has just been blown away. Lucifer, her Lucifer, is the reason the sun shines— _literally!_ He put the stars in the sky and made the moon glow!

 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she promises ands heads for the elevator both dazzled and dazed by the enormity of it.


	9. Chapter Nine

It’s after eleven by the time Chloe makes it back to the penthouse. Amenadiel is dozing in the reading chair, a book lying open on his lap. Chloe touches his arm gently. He wakes with a start and his eyes turn instantly towards the bed, to make sure Lucifer is all right.

 

“He’s still sleeping,” Chloe quickly assures him. “Why don’t you go to bed?” she suggests. “You’ve had a rough day too. I’ll stay with him tonight.”

 

Amenadiel stretches and yawns and eases himself up from the soft cradle of the caramel leather chair. “If you need me, just call…I’ll be right back here,” he indicates the direction of the guestroom.

 

“I will,” Chloe promises. “Sleep well.”

 

Amenadiel pauses by the bed and looks down at Lucifer. The covers have slipped, and he bends and pulls them back up, letting his hand linger a moment on Lucifer’s shoulder, before he softly withdraws.

 

Chloe takes off her jacket and boots, and lets down her hair. She settles herself comfortably on the bed beside Lucifer, ready to be there for him if he wakes. She leans on one elbow, watching him sleep. Sometime he twitches, tosses his head, and mutters words in a foreign language, presumably the Tongue of Angels. Chloe would love to know what’s going on inside his tortured mind. Where is he roaming? What is he feeling?

 

When Chloe was a little girl she starred in a peanut butter commercial with a Dalmatian dog. It was a beautiful taut, sleek animal, proud and high-strung, brimming over with nervous vitality. Its white coat was covered with smudgy black spots that, its handler told Chloe, were each unique, just like snowflakes. She remembers now; that was the dog’s name—Snowflake. Handling him required a patient, firm, yet gentle hand. By the time they finished filming, Chloe felt like she’d never want to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches ever again. They had to do so many takes because of that edgy, energetic, excitable dog, and every time she had to eat another sandwich, acting as though it was the one thing she wanted most in the world. But she couldn’t blame or hate Snowflake, even though her belly was bloated and aching and she threw up in her dressing room. It was just his nature. In many ways, Lucifer reminds her of Snowflake the Dalmatian. He needs patience and gentleness tempered by firmness, he’s skittish and wild, and, like a child, he doesn’t always understand. Being old—and he’s older than the Earth itself—doesn’t always make you wise.

 

Lost in her thoughts, it takes Chloe a moment to realize Lucifer’s eyes are open and he’s watching her with a puzzled and wary expression.

 

“Is this real?” he finally asks. “Are you really here?”

 

“Yep,” Chloe nods and smiles down at him, reaching out a hand to stroke a few stray wisps of dark hair back from his brow, “this is really real, I’m really here.”

 

“Why?” he asks tremulously. “Now you know, now that you’ve seen…I’m the Devil, a monster…you didn’t run away? You’re…here?”

 

“You’re not a monster, Lucifer. If you were a monster would I do this?” She leans down and kisses his lips lightly, gently, gradually deepening the kiss.

 

Lucifer pulls back in surprise, but Chloe’s hands, clasping his face, keep him from breaking the kiss until she’s ready to end it.

 

Chloe sits up on her knees and lifts her bullet-torn shirt over her head then reaches for the button of her jeans.

 

Lucifer’s mouth falls open and his jaw trembles. There’s the look of a frightened rabbit about his eyes. “D-D-Detective?”

 

She knows she loves Lucifer, but she also knows it’s really too soon, she shouldn’t be doing this. If she’s honest with herself, she knows she isn’t really sure if it’s the right or the wrong thing to do. She’s acting solely on instinct, and even that feels like shifting sand beneath her feet. Everything feels too intense and raw… new and uncertain. It’s as though her soul is up there high, stuck like a fly, upon the ceiling, staring down, clinical, detached, and cool, watching every move she makes. She also knows there’s a line and once it’s crossed there’s no going back again. Things will either get better or worse, but they’ll never be the same. Normal is gone forever, they’ll have to find, or create, a new normal. But about one thing she still feels absolutely certain—Lucifer is not a monster. And she feels compelled to do this, to speak to Lucifer in a language she knows he’ll understand—what better way to show him that she doesn’t think he’s a monster than by making love to him?

 

“If you were a monster,” she repeats, “would I do this?” She reaches behind her to unclasp her bra then shimmies out of her panties. “Or this?” She turns back the covers and climbs on top of him.

 

She pushes his shoulders back gently onto the bed, and he lays there, staring up at her, stunned, shell-shocked, and paralyzed by uncertainty, this ancient being, famous for his amorous prowess, is almost like a shy and scared virgin beneath her. She can feel him trembling beneath the gentle clasp of her thighs, as though the nervous butterflies in his stomach are poised to take frightened flight.

 

His breath catches when she reaches for the waistband of his silk shorts. She pauses for a brief, anxious moment. Chloe’s never had an uncircumcised lover before, and while she can admit her nervousness to herself, she’s determined not to let it show, not to do anything that might send this skittish Devil running away from her again. She does and she doesn’t know what she wants, the future feels even more uncertain than ever before, she feels lost in the whirlwind of new, awesome and frightening truths, but she knows she doesn’t want to lose him. The Devil is, and will always be, in some way, a part of her life.

 

Lucifer lies on his back, gazing up at her with a whole world of hope in his eyes, watching and waiting, with bated breath, to see what she’ll do.

 

Chloe caresses and kisses him gently and gives her hands the freedom to rove and explore. She’s determined to take her time and discover what Lucifer likes, to be different from all the others, the ones who use Lucifer for fun, sex, and favors, treating him like a living sex toy, devoid of feelings, designed to give them the best night of their life. With his eternal youth, endless life, and boundless wealth, his treasure trove of experiences collected almost since Time began, _this_ is something that she, a mere mortal who is like a teardrop in the vast ocean of his life, _can_ give him. Whatever the future holds, they’ll always have this.

 

She feels his flaccid penis rouse and waken beneath her hands.

 

“Chloe…” Lucifer whispers her name awed and reverent as a prayer. He leans longingly, eagerly, into her touch, as parched for affection as a desert wanderer is for water, knowing that in her he’s found his oasis.

 

His fingers hover light as hummingbirds over her skin, barely daring to touch, and she feels the damp kiss of his cock brushing feather-light against her stomach and thighs. As weak and weary as he feels, Lucifer is determined not to just lie there, leaving everything to her, and his fingers seek and find the pink pearl of pleasure. His fingers are deft and sure, like when they play the piano, stroking, rousing, gently coaxing and guiding her to a shivering crescendo of pleasure before he rolls on top of her. As they scale the heights together, climbing closer and closer to the pinnacle, he sits up suddenly, pulling her up with him, astride his lap. In the moment of release, his wings unfurl and surround her, and he buries his face in her neck and long, tangled hair, her name a strangled cry upon his lips. The feathers are like hot silk against her naked skin, and she can feel them twitching and pulsing with life, like his penis inside her. In the midst of that white-hot ecstasy, Chloe is startled to feel hot tears against her shoulder as he shudders against, and inside, her. She holds him close, strokes his back, and whispers soothing words, comforting him as she would a child.

 

The rest of the night passes like a fever-dream. They come together again and again in increasingly languid urgency, they make love, lie together and drowse, hot and sweaty, kicking the covers from their limbs, and then repeat with scarcely a word spoken between them because, if truth be known, neither of them really knows what to say.

 

When the dawn comes, Lucifer lies in a swoon beneath her, weak as Samson newly shorn. Chloe bends and kisses him lightly, the golden-brown ends of her long hair tickling his face, tangling with his black stubble, before she settles at his side, drawing the covers up over them.

 

***

 

When the morning comes, Chloe knows she has to leave. It’s not Lucifer but her who will run away. Pierce’s death has created a bureaucratic mess, she still has a few loose ends to tie up at the precinct, and then she’s off, on a month’s leave. She’s already made up her mind to take this time for herself, as hard as that will be for Lucifer to understand. She has to put herself first now or risk going hair-tearing mad. She has to sit still for awhile in a quiet corner before she can go forward.

 

Too much has happened. Even though he’s dead now, Pierce still haunts her, and probably will for a very long time. She almost married the man, and there’s no forgetting that, she can’t, as much as she would like to, just put it out of her mind. She’s troubled by the choices she made and the reasons she made them. She’s shocked and even ashamed at how far away she stepped from her self—she actually had sex in the evidence closet! _Don’t go there, not now,_ she tells herself firmly, or she really will be sick all over Lucifer’s marble floor.

 

Of all the things she feels, greatest of all is the sense of loss. In the midst of all the startling, earthshaking truths she’s found, is the overwhelming feeling that she’s lost herself amidst the chaos and debris. She needs to find herself again. So she’s going back to a place that has always represented wellbeing and peace—the cabin where her father always used to go when he needed to “take a step back from life to see it better.” Postcard perfect, like a Thomas Kinkade painting, he called it his rustic heaven, the perfect place to be alone and think, and to find serenity and strength; it was the place to go when the well of the soul had run dry. Away from society’s clamor, John Decker would unleash his mind to find its way unrushed to whatever decision he needed to make. He’d wrestled with many a crisis sitting with a fishing rod in his hand and his bare feet dangling in the lake, and he always returned restored and ready to face whatever he had to face with an aura of quiet serenity about him. This is what she needs right now. And a place her father called “rustic heaven” seems a strangely fitting place to go and think about celestial beings, and all life’s mysteries and wonders, what has to and doesn’t have to change, how she fits into the grand scheme of things, and what loving, and being loved by, the Devil truly means.

 

There isn’t time to go back to her apartment before she’s due at the precinct. As it is she’ll have to rush, so she showers quickly, without even taking time to indulge her curiosity about Lucifer’s vast array of expensive toiletries, grabbing the first bottle of body wash within reach. Afterwards, she borrows one of his shirts to replace her ruined one. She’ll keep her jacket fastened, and hopefully no one will notice it.

 

The last thing she wants is for Lucifer to think that she’s abandoning him. But she has to go, she just can’t stay, there’s no way around it. To work this out, she needs solitude, distance and clarity. Understanding, if he can reach it, is going to come after a struggle, Lucifer’s mind is programmed to expect abandonment. He’s forgotten love for far too long and focused on what it feels like to be hurt. That needs to change. But, for now, she’ll leave that with Amenadiel; as an angel who knows how precious time is, she has a feeling he won’t waste it.

 

“Lucifer,” she leans over the bed and gently shakes his shoulder. He’s sleeping so soundly, she hates to wake him, but…she can’t just go without telling him, without at least trying to explain, that would hurt and confuse him even more.

 

“Lucifer,” she gives his shoulder another, more insistent, shake.

 

Lucifer rolls over onto his back, rumpled wings flopping across the mattress. He opens his bleary eyes and smiles groggily up at her. His smile is so childlike and sweet, it completely melts her heart.

 

“Hey there,” she smiles back at him.

 

 “I once played ten rounds of golf with President Taft,” Lucifer informs her. “I was blindfolded. I lost every game.”

 

Ooookkkkaaaayyyy….Chloe stands up straight and a worried frown tugs at her mouth.

 

Lucifer is eyeing her expectantly; clearly she needs to say something.

 

“I…uh…yeah…I…uh…I guess it’s kind of hard to win if you’re…um…playing golf… _blindfolded?”_

 

Lucifer smiles, sighs, and stretches languorously against the pillows, fluffing his feathers. “And then he took me to the Atlantic City Boardwalk, and we bought saltwater taffy—all _twelve_ flavors!—and rode the Ferris wheel over and over and over and over…” he giggles delightedly and squirms against the silken sheets. “Have you ever watched the stars come out from the top of a Ferris wheel while eating teaberry taffy?”

 

_What the hell is teaberry?_ It must be some old-fashioned long forgotten flavor. Chloe’s never heard of it. And only _twelve_ flavors? _Twelve?_ _Wow!_ There’s a store at the mall—Just The Beanz!—that sells over 100 flavors of jellybeans, including special blends like Virginia Ham & Scrambled Eggs and Make Your Own Cheeseburger with jellybeans that taste like beef, ketchup, mustard, onions, pickles, and cheddar cheese, and nicer, normal things like lemon marshmallow, blueberry muffins, and strawberry shortcake. They even have parties for all the major candy holidays to launch their seasonal flavors, she and Trixie never miss them, they stood in line for over an hour last December to taste the new snow flavored jellybeans. But teaberry, they do _not_ have! Chloe and Trixie have tried every flavor.

 

And Lucifer and _President_ _Taft?_ _Really?_ _Ewww!_ As a child actor, Chloe had an on-set tutor, and when they studied the U.S. presidents Miss Leighanne made a chart with a photo and a couple of interesting facts about each one, to help them stand out in Chloe’s mind as people, not just a list of names she needed to memorize. Taft, Chloe remembers, was America’s fattest president and, according to legend, got stuck in the White House bathtub. She vaguely recalls him sporting a walrus moustache and a great big belly that would have made him ideal for dressing up as Santa. It makes her wonder…Didn’t they have weight and safety regulations for Ferris wheels back then? She’s surprised the lap bar would even fit over his stomach.

 

Suddenly she’s got this picture stuck in her head of Lucifer and this jolly apple-cheeked fat man with a huge handlebar moustache, both of them wearing cream-colored linen trousers, black bow ties, crisp white shirts beneath brightly striped blazers, straw boater hats with grosgrain bands, and black-and-white two-tone shoes. They’re gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes as the Ferris wheel goes round and round. President Taft has a candied apple in his hand and waves it in time with the calliope music and their hands touch as they both dip into a white paper sack of saltwater taffy. Chloe almost feels like falling on her knees and praying if that will help get this image out of her head. It’s just so… _Ewww!_

 

Lucifer’s mood suddenly becomes tearful and morose. “There were moments,” he confides, “when I used to think that _maybe_ he still loved me, at least a little, but it was all mind-games—torture, manipulation, and mind-games _every bloody time!”_

 

He looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

 

Chloe’s mind boggles at the thought of Lucifer pining for the love of President Taft. This is just… _too frickin’ weird!_ She doesn’t even know what to say.

 

“I…uh…I’m so sorry!” It’s not altogether a lie, she is sorry to see him so sad.

 

“That’s all right,” Lucifer nods and smiles benignly, “whatever you’ve done, I forgive you.”

 

“Thanks! I’ll…uh…be right back!”

 

Amenadiel is already up; he’s in the kitchen making coffee.

 

Chloe quickly declines his offer of breakfast and explains the situation.

 

Amenadiel hurries into the bedroom. Lucifer is dozing again and he gently wakes him.

 

“Luci,” he lays a hand across his brow, “how are you feeling, Brother?”

 

Lucifer moans.

 

“I think I ate too much crystal candy, Brother. I don’t feel right! Will you make me a hot lemon tonic and rub my stomach?”

 

Chloe has to clamp a hand over her mouth to contain the startled spurt of laughter. The Devil— _The actual Devil!—_ is just like a child sometimes!

 

“Of course, Luci,” Amenadiel smiles indulgently. “I’ll go squeeze the lemons and boil the water right now. You just rest; go back to sleep if you can.”

 

_“Esiasch_ _tablior,”_ Lucifer smiles, sighs, and hugs the pillow to his head, and his wings, stretched across the bed, give a happy little flutter.

 

“Always,” Amenadiel leans and tucks the covers around him. The words are like a sweet sting to his heart, he hasn’t heard Lucifer say them in ages. Roughly translated, they mean “my brother who always comforts me.”

 

Almost immediately Lucifer falls back into a deep, sound sleep.

 

Amenadiel jerks his head, indicating for Chloe to follow him back to the kitchen.

 

“He’s fine, he just needs to rest.”

 

“You’re sure?” Chloe frowns over the cup of coffee Amenadiel hands her.

 

Amenadiel feels torn. Chloe needs to know about Lucifer’s vulnerability. But is now the right time? She already has a lot of new information to process, and the vulnerability factor is the kind of thing that might feed feelings of nervousness and panic. Lucifer loves this mortal woman, and she loves him, but knowing that her nearness makes him vulnerable to injury and even death might make her shy away from any kind of relationship in order to protect him. And that would break Lucifer’s heart. Love, Amenadiel knows all too well, makes even the mightiest vulnerable. And, from a purely practical standpoint, any human partner Chloe might have for her police work would be vulnerable to gunshots and stabbing, and even bombs, it is considered high-risk employment. He feels confident Lucifer can handle it. Sheer dumb luck doesn’t keep even a celestial being alive over 4 billion years.

 

“Think about it like when your phone is dead and you charge it just enough to make a call or two, and then it’s dead again, and you keep charging it enough just to use it one more time, it’s kind of like that, it doesn’t have time to reach full power before you drain it again. Waking him from such a sound sleep after everything he went through yesterday…his brain is just a little scrambled. He’ll be fine, I promise, Chloe, he just needs to rest. He has been through a lot.”

 

“Yeah, um…Okay,” Chloe nods. “So…um… _President_ _Taft?_ _Seriously?_ I remember seeing pictures of him, and he just doesn’t seem like Lucifer’s type. I didn’t even know he was gay! I thought he was one of those rare presidents who was devoted to his wife.”

 

“Oh he was,” Amenadiel assures her, “very devoted! When Nellie suffered a stroke, he nursed her back to health and even taught her to talk again. The thing with Lucifer was one of those once in a lifetime things; Taft always called it his “midsummer madness.” They met at an ice cream social. Luci played the piano. He sang three songs—“Under the Bamboo Tree,” “The Bird on Nellie’s Hat” and “Every Little Movement Has a Meaning All Its Own,”—and made William Howard Taft forget all about ice cream. He was completely smitten! He invited Luci to the White House to play…golf,” he adds, hoping Chloe doesn’t notice the rather lengthy pause between those last two words. “Everyone has an occasional lapse in judgment or good taste.”

 

There’s certainly no arguing with that!

 

“Are you really going to make him a lemon tonic and rub his stomach?” Chloe asks curiously.

 

“I generally prefer not to start the day with being thrown off the balcony, Chloe.”


	10. Chapter Ten

Lucifer wakes up alone, naked, in a tangle of black silk sheets smelling of sex and sweat.

 

“Chloe?” he whispers tentatively.

 

Surely it wasn’t a dream? But how could it _not_ be? The way she loved and accepted him, even after she saw his face, and knew the whole epic, biblical truth about him…it was a dream come true, just like the happy ending of a movie. She wasn’t afraid or repelled. “Would I do this if I thought you were a monster?” she had asked, and then she _kissed_ him and she _touched_ him, knowing and believing that Lucifer Morningstar truly is the Devil, backing up with her body the wonderful words her lips had spoken. No screenwriter or novelist could ever have written a happier ending!

 

Lucifer wobbles unsteadily out of bed, wincing as his wings strike the doorframe—the bloody things are out again! With a grimace of annoyance he rolls his shoulders and tucks them away.

 

“Chloe?” He hovers uncertainly outside the bathroom, listening to the silence, before going inside.

 

Half hanging out of the small gilded garbage can, he finds a white ribbed cotton shirt pierced by a bullet hole. He picks it up and breathes in her scent.

 

“She borrowed one of yours.”

 

Lucifer staggers and stumbles over his feet as he whirls around to face Amenadiel.

 

“A light blue one, it looks very nice with her eyes.”

 

“She… _left?_ ” Lucifer frowns. “She left me!” He clutches her abandoned shirt against his chest like a child’s cherished teddy bear and looks like he’s about to dissolve into tears. “She must have changed her mind!”

 

“Luci, no!” Amenadiel moves quickly, putting his arm around his brother’s shoulders and steering him gently back to the bedroom. “She didn’t leave _you,_ but she had to leave…She stayed as long as she could, but she has responsibilities—a job and a child. Try to understand, Brother, yesterday turned her entire world upside down, she needs time to process…”

 

“ _No!_ ” Lucifer shakes his head. “Brother, you don’t understand! We…had…sex…only…that doesn’t seem the right word for it?” A confused frown furrows Lucifer’s brow. “It was…different. But…I’m afraid I…disappointed her…”

 

“Surely not,” Amenadiel says as he helps Lucifer back into bed, plumps the pillows behind his back, and tucks the covers around his waist.

 

“I was weak, Brother! Feeble! I’m afraid it wasn’t…No, I _know_ it wasn’t, the best night of her life! She must have been so disappointed that she couldn’t bear to face me this morning!”

 

“Well…She…um…looked happy.”

 

“Happy to be leaving! Don’t try to sugarcoat the truth, Brother!”

 

“Lucifer, I’m not…”

 

“Yes you are! You’re just like that excessively optimistic child in that tooth-achingly saccharine Disney movie!”

 

“You mean _Pollyanna?_ ” Amenadiel grins. “Thank you, Luci, I like that movie.”

 

“Of course you do!” Lucifer glowers.

 

“Now, Luci, that little girl had a very positive attitude, you could learn a lot from her.”

 

“What, not to climb a very tall tree while holding a doll in my teeth and wearing patent leather shoes? Really, Brother, I fail to see how a G-rated movie can possibly help me now that the Detective has left me after I disappointed her in bed!”

 

“She hasn’t left you, Luci…”

 

“Is she here?” Lucifer demands.

 

“No, but…”

 

“Then she _has_ left me! She has, she has, she has, so stop telling me she hasn’t! Perhaps I should send flowers and chocolates?” he considers as desperation takes hold.

 

“Luci, I don’t think…”

 

“Jewelry?”

 

“No, Lucifer, I…”

 

“Something simple and unostentatious with small but superior diamonds—a tennis bracelet or earrings perhaps?”

 

“Lucifer! No!” Amenadiel says firmly and then proceeds to explain calmly and carefully, “I don’t think any of that is necessary, Brother, because I don’t think Chloe is disappointed. I saw her before she left, and I would tell you if I thought there was any cause for concern. If you start sending her lavish gifts now she might think you’re trying to buy her affections, like the time you tried to give her a car. She didn’t leave because of anything that happened in your bed, Brother, she left because she had to, that’s the truth plain and simple, and you need to accept that and stop doubting yourself, and Chloe, and just relax, and…”

 

“You know, it was the strangest thing,” Lucifer considers, “every time she touched me, it felt…better than good, it was…more than mere physical sensations, it was…meaningful?”

 

“And what do you think it meant?”

 

“It was like she was trying to tell me something with her whole body, not just words…”

 

“And what do you think she was trying to tell you?”

 

 “That she still…likes me?”

 

“Luci, I really think you should use a stronger word than ‘likes.’”

 

“Loves?” Lucifer hesitantly whispers the word, like someone who hardly dares hope.

 

“Yeah,” Amenadiel smiles and pats Lucifer’s shoulder, “I think that’s the perfect word.”

 

“Really?” Lucifer smiles.

 

“Yeah,” Amenadiel nods again. “Chloe doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would engage in casual sexual acts, Brother; I think last night was a covenant of love, to show you that she has not forsaken you even though she has to leave you temporarily.”

 

Lucifer’s face lights up but then, just as quickly, it crumples. “But she left me, Brother! She left me without saying a word! She just _left!_ While I was sleeping! _Everyone_ knows I hate to wake up alone! She didn’t even wake me up to tell me she was leaving!”

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel sits down on the side of the bed, facing his brother, and puts his hands on his shoulders, “calm down and listen to me, please! Chloe left, but she did _not_ leave you! She tried to tell you, Brother, she _really_ did! You were sleeping so soundly she hated to wake you, but she didn’t want you to be upset like you are now, so she woke you up to tell you, but you were confused and started talking about playing golf with President Taft.”

 

“I did? _Really?_ ” Lucifer frowns. “I don’t remember! I mean…I remember playing golf with Tafty of course, vividly, I was blindfolded, and I lost every game, all ten rounds. Lovely chap, like having a walrus for a pet! He got stuck in the White House bathtub, his hips just would not budge, but we decided to make the best of things; his moustache tickled my thighs and I was practically _screaming_ with laughter. But you know that, of course! That was when _you_ came in with your typically atrocious timing to spoil my fun and take me back to Hell, leaving the 27th President of the United States stuck in his bathtub, which I thought was most unkind of you, I might add…”

 

“ _Unkind?_ _Unkind!_ ” Amenadiel exclaims. “May _I_ remind _you,_ ” he jabs an indignant finger into Lucifer’s bare chest, “that I agreed to stop in Atlantic City on the way back to Hell because you had a craving for saltwater taffy? And you think _I_ was _unkind?_ Lucifer! We rode the Ferris wheel _twenty-six times_ because you wanted to take your time and really savor the flavors. If you had taken the taffy back to Hell it would have melted, so, out of the goodness of my heart, I allowed you to stay on Earth until you’d finished it!”

 

“Oh yes!” Lucifer sighs dreamily and sinks back against the pillows. “That was fun! We went to Fralinger's on the Boardwalk and bought a big bag with all twelve flavors—strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, licorice, lemon, peach, peppermint, cinnamon, root beer, molasses, lime, and teaberry. Mmmm…” he stretches luxuriously. “That was the _best_ taffy ever!”

 

“It really was,” Amenadiel agrees. “I wonder if they still make teaberry? It seems an uncommon flavor nowadays. When I asked for teaberry ice cream at Baskin-Robbins they looked at me as if I were crazy.”

 

 “Were you wearing the dress?”

 

Amenadiel folds his arms across his chest and just glowers at him. “It’s no laughing matter, Lucifer! I had to settle for Boysenberry Peanut Butter Ripple; the manager said it was the closest thing to teaberry, but he was wrong— _very_ wrong!”

 

“Very well, Brother! Calm yourself, I was just asking! But it is very hard to believe! Thirty-one flavors and no teaberry? It was a classic even in 1912! When I’m feeling better I’ll go and have a word with the manager.” He sighs and stretches against the pillows again. “You know, Brother, I was just thinking…Fralinger’s must have more than twelve flavors of taffy by now; if there are thirty-one flavors of ice cream, it only stands to reason that there must be at least that many flavors of taffy. We should go back and find out!”

 

“If you would like to,” Amenadiel ventures cautiously but hopefully, “when you’re feeling better we can…”

 

“Yes, I would!” Lucifer nods and smiles eagerly. “And you misunderstood me, Brother—I meant you were unkind to Tafty, leaving him stuck in the bathtub after he went to all that trouble trying to get me drunk on peach schnapps. He was a teetotaler, poor dear, and thought that was really strong stuff! I drank a whole case of it just to oblige him. But I don’t remember telling Chloe any of this…Why don’t I remember? Tell me the truth, Brother, was she very upset about Tafty and me and the bathtub? She shouldn’t be! It happened _years_ before she was born! I hope you had the presence of mind to tell her that!”

 

 “She doesn’t know about the bathtub, Luci, only the golf, and her _parents_ hadn’t even been born yet, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about regarding President Taft. As for why you don’t remember…Yesterday was very traumatic, you endured a great deal, Brother, both physically and emotionally, and you’re not fully recovered yet, you still need to rest. Having Chloe here was good for you, and she wanted to be here with you, but…every time your energy started to replenish, I think her presence, in your already weakened condition, caused it to drain again. You were sleeping very soundly…and with your energy so depleted, I think it’s only natural that you were a little confused, you were probably dreaming and…”

 

“But why Taft, Brother? Why should I be dreaming about that after all these years? Don’t you think it’s rather strange?”

 

“I thought it was strange then, Luci, the passage of 106 years hasn’t changed my mind. A 380 pound man with a walrus moustache isn’t your usual type, Brother. Of all the sights I wish I could un-see, Luci, you and President Taft in that bathtub is definitely near the top of the list!”

 

“Yes, well…It was fun at the time! When will Chloe be back?”

 

“Well, Brother…I’m not exactly sure…”

 

“But she _will_ be back later…today or…tonight, yes?”

 

“No, Luci…”

 

Tears instantly fill Lucifer’s eyes. “You said she didn’t leave me! That implies she’s coming back! But if she isn’t, then she _has_ left me! I _knew_ it! She has left me, she has! I told you not to sugarcoat the truth, Brother!”

 

“Luci…” Amenadiel cups Lucifer’s face between his hands. “Have a little patience, Brother! Try to see it her way! Chloe has been through a lot…she almost married Cain, and then she, an unbeliever, found out everything she thought was a myth or a metaphor is true—God, the Devil, Heaven, Hell, angels, demons are all real! And she found out in a way that would have shaken anyone, even a strong, intelligent woman like Chloe. Remember what it did to Linda? But Chloe handled it all remarkably well, I was _very_ impressed, Brother, but she needs some time to…”

 

“To process, yes, I heard you before!” Lucifer shoves his brother’s hands away. “I know what that means, Brother! Once she’s had time ‘to process,’ she’ll decide that last night was a mistake, and that having me in her life is a mistake! One she needs to remedy as soon as possible!” He rolls over and pulls the covers up over his head.

 

“She left you a message on your phone; don’t you even want to listen to it?” Amenadiel asks gently.

 

Lucifer peers out cautiously from under the covers. “What kind of a message? It’s not one of those ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ things; is it?”

 

“I don’t think so; that’s certainly not the impression she gave when we discussed it, but I haven’t heard it, she recorded it after she left. It’s a voicemail message; I thought that would be better than a text, so you could hear the sound of her voice.”

 

Lucifer sits up and eagerly snatches the phone from Amenadiel’s hand.

 

“Damn telemarketers!” he grouses, jabbing his finger to delete each successive call. “Save 15% on auto insurance, sweepstakes, cruise, flood insurance, sweepstakes, Florida time share, another cruise, Disneyland tickets, boat insurance, book a Buddhist temple tour, free hair transplant consult, AARP will give me a free tote bag if I join today, a car warranty I never had—Oh, on a station wagon! _Really?_ —has expired, my Apple phone is sick with a virus but they can cure it for $300, give a goat to a starving family in Africa—Do they mean as a pet or to eat? They never make that clear!—No! I would _not_ like a free copy of _The Book of Mormon_ …Oh, no!”

 

“What?” Amenadiel asks anxiously.

 

“A very angry man is coming for some bitch named Stephanie with a sledgehammer! He’s so angry, Brother, he’s actually slurring his words!”

 

“Maybe you should call 9-1-1?”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “I’ll just forward it to Daniel.”

 

“Good idea! Detective Espinoza will know what to do!”

 

“…Medicare supplement plan, burial insurance, free samples of incontinence products…Ah!” Lucifer beams as the next message begins. “Chloe!” he breathes with a dreamy sigh.

 

_Hey, Lucifer, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up. I tried to talk to you before I left, but you…uh…weren’t making much sense, you kept talking about President Taft and playing golf blindfolded, I…um…I’m sorry you lost, but I guess it’s kind of understandable that you did since you were…uh…blindfolded. I hope you’re feeling better by the time you get this message. Amenadiel said you just needed to rest and you’d be fine. He’s going to stay and take care of you. I’m…uh…with everything that’s happened, wow, it’s just…I’m just feeling really overwhelmed right now, this is so big I’m just…lost in it, and I…I just need some time. I just…need…time. I know you’re still you, you’re the same Lucifer I’ve always known and lov—But…things are different now, and I can’t pretend that they’re not. And I just need to get away, and be by myself for awhile, somewhere quiet where I can think. There’s a cabin where my father used to go and fish for rainbow trout, and I’m going there. Maybe later you can join me. Okay? I’ll text you when I’m ready. But I don’t want you to worry, everything’s okay, I just need…time. Take care of yourself and be nice to your brother. See you soon! Okay? Bye!_

 

“Feeling better now?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“I…think so, but…if Chloe is alone in that cabin with nothing to do but think and listen to the trout swim…”

 

“I don’t think humans can hear trout swim, Luci.”

 

“They can’t?”

 

“Well…maybe in an aquarium, or if they’re really close to them in the water, but…I don’t think Chloe, or any other human, would be able to hear trout swimming from inside a cabin.”

 

“Gosh, it’s going to be really quiet there! And without me there to remind her, she might change her mind and…”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head. “When someone really loves you, Luci, they don’t stop just because you’re not there.”

 

“They don’t?” Lucifer asks doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, Brother, I am very sure. Now, how about some breakfast? I made you chocolate chip pancakes with creamy ranch dressing—I used those Belgian chocolate chips you like and I put extra in the batter—and there are some beautiful fresh strawberries from the Farmers’ Market.”

 

“Brother,” Lucifer purrs delightedly, “sometimes I almost think you love me!”

 

“Almost,” Amenadiel repeats bitterly. “I’ll get your breakfast.”

 

“Lovely!” Lucifer sighs and settles back against the pillows with Chloe’s shirt hugged to his heart and the phone pressed against his ear to hear her voice again, reassuring him that “everything’s okay” and they’ll be together soon.


	11. Chapter Eleven

After she leaves the precinct, Chloe has a few hours to kill before Trixie gets home from school, so she goes to the public library and checks out all the books she can find about the Devil, and a few about angels too, since she isn’t certain if she’ll have a strong enough signal to access the internet at the cabin.

 

There are the obvious choices of course— _The Holy Bible,_ _Dante’s Inferno,_ and _Paradise_ _Lost._ _Rosemary’s Baby_ seems to stare daggers at her from the shelf, so she just has to pick it up. Her arms are soon overflowing with titles like _Satan, Sorcery & Sex,_ _In Lucifer’s Court,_ _Satanica Sexualis, The Devil’s Own,_ _The Devil’s Bride,_ _Whores of the Devil,_ _Fallen Angels:_ _Soldiers of Satan’s Realm,_ _Satan’s Underground,_ _The Origins of Satan,_ _The History of Hell,_ _The Devil & All His Works,_ a kid’s book called _Lucifer: Good Angel Gone Bad,_ and _The Secret History of Lucifer,_ which offers a feminist conspiracy slant involving Mary Magdalene and Leonardo da Vinci. A kindly librarian also recommends _The Devils of Loudun,_ an account of demonic possession and sexual repression at a French convent in the 1600s, so Chloe takes that one too.

 

Some of the titles at first glance sound more lurid than helpful, but Chloe believes in being thorough. When she doesn’t understand something, it’s her nature to research it, so Chloe Decker is researching the Devil, like a good detective, determined to learn everything she can about him. Right now she feels too uncertain and shaky to trust her own instincts and eyes, and Amenadiel’s unique view of Lucifer is clearly tempered by love, so now it’s the scholars and idolaters, the theologians and theorists turn to tell her what they can. The question is: will she come back from this journey wiser or even more confused?

 

As she’s struggling to put her armload of books in the car without dropping them, one of the big, coffee-table type art books falls into the open trunk and flips open. Chloe’s breath catches. It’s a two-page spread full color photo, a detail from a Byzantine mosaic table dating from the 6th century that shows the hierarchy of angels around its rim. It is unique, the caption says, because, instead of excluding him altogether or depicting him as the horned and hideous Devil, the fallen angel Lucifer appears as radiant and beautiful, and in his rightful place in the rank of angels. Because the table is round, the last and first are shown side by side, dark wingtips touching white. Amenadiel, the Might and Fury of God, wears a red robe and holds a large book clasped against his breast and a sword in his other hand, emblems of the scholar and soldier. To his left stands Lucifer, the Bringer of Light, in a robe of ice blue, a halo of dark curls around his face, and a nascent star cupped in his hands. Kneeling at the feet of each angel is a woolly white sheep; the lone exception is Lucifer, who stands above a brown and white goat.

 

“It’s all true,” Chloe whispers and grabs onto the edge of the trunk as her knees suddenly become very wobbly and weak. “It’s all true!” she slams the lid down and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Stars dance before her eyes and darkness is crowding out her sight. Somehow she manages to get into the car, to sit down, before the feeling of dizzy panic overwhelms her. She leans her forehead on the steering wheel and forces herself to _just breathe, Chloe, just breathe…_

 

Lucifer’s voice echoes in her head. It’s like four separate people all speaking at once, their voices overlapping:

 

“This is real; isn’t it?”  he asks in a tremulous, tentative voice hardly daring to hope.

 

“Chloe,” he sadly, softly tells her, “I am the Devil.”

 

In a mad, red rage he screams “NO ONE LOVES ME! EVERYONE LEAVES ME! IT IS TRUE! IT IS! NO ONE LOVES THE DEVIL!”

 

And, with a little groan of misery, like a child with a bellyache, “I think I ate too much crystal candy, Brother. I don’t feel right! Will you make me a hot lemon tonic and rub my stomach?”

 

She can still feel the ghost of his wings shimmering beneath her fingers, so soft, bright, and warm.

 

Child, man, angel, devil, they are all Lucifer Morningstar. If she accepts one, she has to accept the others. If she rejects one, she rejects them all.

 

And every time she remembers that face…the rug she’s been standing on all her life gets yanked from beneath her feet, leaving her breathless and bewildered.

 

Maybe she should take the books back to the library, does it really matter what they say? Can they help her at all? Is she just grasping at straws? Is this just another way of running away from the truth instead of facing it? In her mind, all the faces of Lucifer merge, blur, and blend: Amenadiel’s curly-haired wild-child angel, the modern man in tailored three-piece suits, and the crispy, burnt Devil. Seeing is believing. But what do you do _after_ you start to believe?

 

***

 

Back at her apartment, Chloe throws some clothes into a travel bag and waits for Trixie to come home. Dan is coming over too. They’re going to have dinner. She feels too shaky to cook, so they’ll order pizza. Right next to Trixie’s red crayon drawing of the Devil there are some Domino’s coupons on the fridge. They’ll get cinnamon sticks with the gooey messy icing and those little chocolate lava cakes too. Trixie will like that. They’ll order chicken wings, breadsticks, salad, and pasta too and have a little of everything. And then, together, she and Dan will tell Trixie what she needs to know about Pierce, and Charlotte, and why Chloe has to go away. It’s going to be hard, she’s never been separated from her daughter for this long before, but it has to be done. She _needs_ this so her mind won’t buckle and break. She can’t be the mom Trixie needs her to be if she goes hair-tearing mad.

 

Every time she closes her eyes she sees that face, and with it comes that overwhelming sense of chaos, loss, and confusion. Yank goes the rug, and down she goes. Things will never be the same again.

 

Checking the time, Chloe decides to take a quick shower. She’s got a long drive ahead of her; she wants to leave right after dinner. Maybe it will revitalize her and make her feel better. She tosses Lucifer’s shirt over the back of a chair. He has so many, he’ll never miss it. When she gets back, she’ll have it cleaned and return it to him.

 

It’s hard, very hard, but every time her mind turns back to Lucifer, Chloe pushes him firmly away. _Not now,_ _not now…_ she tells the fried-faced phantom. Standing beneath the showerhead, letting the hot water rain down over her, she clutches her temples, and feels hot tears seep out from between her tightly clenched eyelids. _Please, not now! Please, Lucifer, give me time and space to think and…just breathe, Chloe, just breathe!_ Right now she needs to step back and focus on the here and now. Her daughter has to come first, and then…self-care…research…the preservation of her sanity…and looking deep inside her heart. At the cabin, she’ll let her thoughts go where they must—back to the Devil. But _not now! Not now!_

 

***

 

Chloe keeps her eyes, and her mind, focused, like the twin beams of her headlights, on the winding ribbons of asphalt before her. She refuses to let her mind wander. She needs to focus on driving. Pretend you’re a teenager, she tells herself, and this is your very first time driving alone, without a parent, teacher, or even a friend to turn to. It’s already dark, and dense woods line the road, making the night seem even darker. She needs to stay alert, be vigilant, and not think about God, Heaven, Hell, the Devil, angels, one archangel in particular, or Lucifer the man, her partner, her friend, her... Mentally, she pushes him away again. _Get thee behind me, Satan!_ She can visualize her hands on his chest, shoving, hard and insistent. _Not now_ , _not now! Give me space to breathe, just breathe…_

 

A billboard looms ahead, shining bright thanks to LED lights. Chloe slams on the brakes. Luckily there are no cars behind her.

 

HEY LADIES, WISHING ON A DANDELION CAN’T HELP PREVENT PREGANCY

 

A smiling spiral-curled young woman in a cute black and white checked dress informs any interested passersby.

 

BUT PLAN B ONE-STEP CAN!

 

Chloe feels like slamming her head against the steering wheel. Is it just her imagination or does she actually feel Lucifer’s semen dribbling out between her thighs? The cover of _Rosemary’s Baby_ slams with concussion force to the forefront of her mind, hitting her like a brick across the forehead. They had sex…they had sex four times…and they didn’t use a condom. Oh no! _No!_ _No!_ _No!_ How could she be so stupid and reckless! Chloe Decker who is always so practical and responsible—except that _one_ time in the evidence closet. _No!_ No, don’t think about _that_ now either! _Focus, Chloe, focus!_ Focus on the here and now and what’s important right this very minute. She groans and bangs her forehead lightly against the wheel. She had scheduled her annual well-woman exam for next Tuesday at 9:15 a.m., obviously she’ll have to call and cancel since she won't be in LA, but she planned to discuss birth control with Dr. Stein. She had specifically asked Janet, the receptionist, to make a note that she wanted to discuss it since she was planning to be married soon.

 

She pulls her car over to the side of the road and grabs her phone and searches frantically for the nearest pharmacy. Better to be safe than sorry! But is levonorgestrel, Plan B’s active ingredient, powerful enough to defeat the Devil’s semen? It’s highly doubtful the pharmacist at Walgreen’s will be able to answer that question, and Chloe knows better than to ask it. She wants the quiet seclusion of a lakeside cabin not 72 hours’ observation in a psych ward. She’ll just have to swallow the pill and hope for the best.


	12. Chapter Twelve

When Amenadiel explains the need for a doctor to confirm that Lucifer is “being treated at home by his personal physician for smoke inhalation and a soft tissue back injury,” Lucifer immediately phones Dr. Felix Wunderbar.

 

The doctor arrives promptly, a sleek silver-haired German in a dapper charcoal gray suit who keeps talking about chocolate in a very suggestive manner while gliding his hands appreciatively over Amenadiel’s bare arms and gazing hungrily at him. His piercing gray eyes stare at Amenadiel’s chest as though they have the power to penetrate his t-shirt like x-ray beams. And then, with a fluid, practiced motion, Dr. Wunderbar’s hand lifts the hem and snakes beneath, to palpate his abdomen Amenadiel assumes based on the hospital shows he’s seen on television. Obviously the doctor is confused about whom he is supposed to examine, and Amenadiel tries to set him straight. But Dr. Wunderbar merely smiles and shakes his head and lays a fingertip lightly over Amenadiel’s lips to shush him. He stresses the importance of regular physicals and promises that his examination will be painstaking and intense and take in every inch. Presumably this is meant to reassure Amenadiel that his brother is in very good hands, and then the doctor starts talking about chocolate again.

 

Amenadiel wonders if coming to examine Lucifer has caused the doctor to miss breakfast. Perhaps he should offer to make him some pancakes? Or maybe he should give him one of the penis-shaped lollipops that are so popular amongst the patrons of Lux; they come in several yummy gourmet flavors including vanilla-fudge-ripple and chocolate-strawberry-swirl. After all, Dr. Wunderbar is German, and Germans are known to be very passionate about chocolate. And it’s only common courtesy to offer food and drink to guests. Plus there’s that peculiar human custom of giving lollipops to doctors after an examination. So many people are forgetful of good manners these days! After his Chlamydia misdiagnosis, Dr. Kaminsky was astonished when Amenadiel hopped down from the examination table and presented him with a pineapple penis lollipop. It was obvious that none of his other patients had been so thoughtful in a very long time; the doctor was rendered speechless by this simple act of gratitude and kindness. But Amenadiel believes it’s important for people to feel appreciated, and it made him feel very good to pat Dr. Kaminsky on the back and say “you deserve it!”

 

Lucifer is sulking under the covers when Amenadiel shows Dr. Wunderbar into his bedroom. He’s had a rough morning and can’t stop brooding about Chloe “coming to her senses” and rejecting the Devil and ejecting him from her life. When he fell asleep again after breakfast, he had a bad dream in which Chloe called him a monster and hurled every hurtful and abusive word she could think of at him before she fled, vowing she never wanted to see him again. He was so shaken that he headed straight for the bar and was reaching for a bottle of vodka when Amenadiel persuaded him to wait until after he’d seen the doctor. But he was alone in the bathroom for quite some time, so it’s possible he might have taken something. Amenadiel finds it’s a delicate balance trying to discourage his brother’s self-destructive tendencies without making him feel like he’s under house arrest and can’t even go to the bathroom by himself.

 

“Brother, Dr. Wunderbar is here to examine you…”

 

Before the words are out of Amenadiel’s mouth, Lucifer rips the covers off, exposing his naked body to the doctor’s delighted eyes.

 

“How are you feeling today?” the doctor asks silkily, removing his jacket.

 

“Touch me and find out!” Lucifer boldly invites.

 

“Luci!” Amenadiel scolds. Suddenly noticing his brother’s eyes, he grabs a handful of dark hair and tilts Lucifer’s head back. “Look at you! Your pupils are completely blown!” He shakes his head in disgust. “Brother, what have you done? What did you take?”

 

“Uh, uh, uh,” Dr. Wunderbar waggles a finger at him, “if you want to play doctor, take off your clothes!”

 

Amenadiel’s jaw drops. “I’ll just wait in the other room,” he decides and hastily retreats.

 

 Lucifer falls back against the pillows laughing like a maniac. “We can’t have a threesome! Are you insane? _Er ist wirklich mein bruder, du dummkopf!_ If you want to have sex with both of us, you’ll have to do it separately—in different rooms!”

 

“I’ll write you a prescription for that,” Dr. Wunderbar smoothly replies, tugging off his gray and black striped silk tie.

 

“ _Wunderbar_!” Lucifer giggles and starts singing the song from _Kiss Me, Kate_.

 

“Wunderbar, wunderbar!

There's our favorite star above

What a bright, shining star

Like our love it's wunderbar!

 

Wunderbar, wunderbar!

What a perfect night for love

Here am I, here you are

Why it's truly wunderbar!

 

Wunderbar, wunderbar!

We're alone and hand in glove

Not a cloud near or far

Why, it's more than wunderbar!”

 

“Yes,” the doctor nods and smiles, “I’ll write you a prescription for that too…”

 

“Lovely!” Lucifer sighs.

 

“Yes, you are!” the doctor agrees and unbuckles his belt.

 

 Amenadiel practically runs to the guestroom and yanks a hoodie over his head; suddenly he feels underdressed in only a t-shirt and jeans. When Lucifer starts screaming in German— _Oh das ist so gut!_ —he turns on the television and watches a documentary on the Smithsonian Channel about the _Hindenburg_ disaster. It seems strangely appropriate. By the time it’s over, things seem to have quieted down and he turns off the TV and cautiously leaves his room. He sits at the bar with his phone, eagerly perusing the latest list of adult education classes that was just emailed to him.

 

Amenadiel just loves taking classes; they’re a marvelous way of filling his free hours, and they remind him of the days when he was acclaimed as one of the Silver City’s finest scholars. Who would have thought that the Los Angeles Community Center could be crammed so full of knowledge? Only last month he completed courses in Identifying Tulips, Understanding Ostriches, Dance Fads of the Roaring 20s, The Joy of Jell-O, Fifty Fun Finger-Foods, Religious Themed Soap Sculpture, How to Bake Marvelous Muffins, and The History of the Hula Hoop.

 

To distract himself from moping over the Chloe/Cain situation, Lucifer had surprisingly agreed to have his likeness immortalized in Ivory Soap as _The Archangel Lucifer in All His Glory_ and posed proudly naked with his wings unfurled and a newborn star cupped in his hands. But he insisted there was nothing marvelous about king-size chocolate muffins crammed full of cinnamon-infused pumpkin puree, chopped spinach, bacon, blueberries, walnuts,  golden raisins, jalapeño peppers, cranberries, and cheddar cheese (which Amenadiel thoughtfully substituted for goat cheese since he knows Lucifer doesn’t like it). When he saw Amenadiel’s crestfallen expression, Lucifer immediately abandoned his pose and went to comfort his brother. He patted him on the back and said “There, there, Brother, at least you remembered to un-shell the nuts this time.” That had been the downfall of his “perfect” pecan pie and had led to Amenadiel being banned from all the cooking classes taught by Mrs. Wikedliz. Though in all fairness, the recipe had called for _shelled_ pecans, not _un_ -shelled pecans; it was an honest mistake anyone could have made. And Lucifer agreed, it was just like that time the recipe called for well-iced fish and Amenadiel slathered the flounder with strawberry buttercream icing; Mrs. Wikedliz really should learn to be more understanding about the ambiguities of baking or else the recipes should be more precise.

 

Now Amenadiel is considering signing up for Creative Fruit Carving, Belly Dancing For Fun and Profit, Farm Animal Painting (he isn’t sure whether this means painting directly _on_ farm animals or painting pictures _of_ them, but both sound challenging, worthwhile, and fun), Bake and Build a Gingerbread Replica of the _Titanic,_ The Hidden History of Leprechauns in the Bible, and The Wonderful World of Artisanal Butters. He looks up warily and sets down his phone when Dr. Wunderbar steps out of Lucifer’s bedroom, smiling and straightening his tie.

 

“Ah, there you are!” he beams. “Your _brother,”_ he utters the word in a very skeptical tone, “said I had frightened you away, but I said no, you are far too attractive to be a shrinking violet. _Schokolade_ ”—and he’s back to chocolate again—“is no prude! _Schokolade_ is always warm, sensual, and inviting!” He hands Amenadiel a stack of prescriptions as thick as a drugstore rack paperback and says he’ll send a courier with a copy of his report before the end of the day. “You should have joined us,” he sidles closer, pats Amenadiel’s chest, and tucks a business card into the front pocket of his jeans. “There’s nothing wrong with a little doctor-supervised _incest,”_ he hisses the word just like the sleazy snake he is, “it can be quite healthy, stimulating, and fun if it’s done in the right spirit—under my personal supervision of course. Everyone says my bedside manner is _wunderbar_ —wonderful—just like my name.”

 

Amenadiel sincerely doubts the doctor stayed on the side of the bed and doesn’t think he’s at all wonderful, more like morally reprehensible and depraved, but the less said about that the better. The important thing is he’s leaving now and will be sending the report they need to square Lucifer’s actions with the police.

 

“Thank you for coming,” at the elevator, Amenadiel stiffly presents the doctor with a pickle juice penis lollipop; the worst, in his opinion, of all the flavors.

 

The doctor twirls the lolly against his lips and his tongue darts out to lick the tip. “I wish I could thank _you_ for coming,” he regretfully replies. “Another time perhaps?” he adds hopefully as the steel doors glide shut.

 

Amenadiel tears the doctor’s business card into teensy-tiny pieces and throws them, along with Lucifer’s prescriptions, into the fireplace.

 

He finds Lucifer sprawled across the rumpled bed, lying on his stomach, hugging a pillow and staring with glassy-eyed longing at Chloe’s shirt. His fingers reach out, but don’t dare touch it.

 

“Well…I guess it’s true, you learn something new every day—I didn’t realize diagnosing a soft tissue back injury consisted of an anal probe,” Amenadiel observes tartly as he picks the bedspread up off the floor and tosses it over Lucifer’s bare bottom.

 

Lucifer leaps up, his eyes flashing hellfire, and rips the sheets off the bed, laying the mattress bare, and scattering pillows everywhere, before he slams into the bathroom.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head and sighs then goes to the kitchen and makes hot chocolate. All Dr. Wunderbar’s talk about chocolate has created a craving, and he thinks it’ll be more soothing for his brother’s nerves than anything containing significant amounts of caffeine or alcohol.  As soon as he said it, he started regretting that remark about the anal probe. Old habits die hard, and Lucifer is accustomed to using sex, drugs, and alcohol as shields to protect and hide him from anything he doesn’t want to face. But this time…his frolic with Dr. Feelgood seems to have left him feeling worse. Maybe a valuable lesson has been learned?

 

While the milk is heating, Amenadiel puts clean sheets on the bed—champagne satin this time instead of the usual black—and tucks Chloe’s shirt under Lucifer’s pillow so he’ll have it to hold when he needs it.

 

He makes the hot chocolate in the French style, decadent and dark, with whole milk, heavy cream, powdered sugar, and bittersweet chocolate, _exactly_ the way Lucifer taught him to after Amenadiel committed the grievous _faux pas_ of purchasing a canister of Nesquik. When it’s ready, he carries a steaming cup to the bathroom as a peace offering.

 

Lucifer doesn’t answer when he knocks. After three tries, Amenadiel cautiously steps inside. What he sees almost stops his heart. The glass mug shatters on the marble floor and hot chocolate spatters and soaks the rug. There are pill bottles _everywhere!_ _Empty_ pill bottles, at least a hundred of them, all the round white lids are separated from the amber plastic tubes. They’re scattered all over the floor, half the drawers have been yanked out of the vanity, and yet more bottles are lined up like toy soldiers around the rim of the tub and floating in the water where Lucifer is slumped with his head resting on cold black marble. His silver flask is lying empty on the floor beside the tub, and there’s not a pill anywhere in sight; they’re all in Lucifer’s stomach.

 

Amenadiel rushes to his brother.

 

“Luci! Lucifer! Wake up! Open your eyes! Look at me! Lucifer! Wake up!” He slaps his face, gently at first, and then harder, and grabs and shakes his shoulders, trying to rouse him. Despite the warmth of the water, Lucifer’s skin is clammy and cold.

 

Lucifer moans and tries to pull away. His head droops like a flower too heavy for its stem and he wants to lay it back down on the cool marble but Amenadiel won’t let him.

 

“Leave me alone,” he murmurs, sinking down lower in the tub and trying to turn away.

 

“No, I won’t,” Amenadiel says in a tone that brooks no argument and quickly removes his clothes.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Lucifer mutters, his voice sad, soft, and slurred, “everyone leaves me—even you, Brother.”

 

“Not always by choice, and I always come back; don’t I?” Amenadiel lifts Lucifer out of the tub and carries him into the shower. He turns the cold water on full blast.

 

Lucifer yelps loudly and twists in his brother’s arms, clinging to him like a drowning man, his whole body shaking.

 

“It’s okay,” Amenadiel strokes the dark head burrowing against his shoulder, trying to hide from the icy spray. Lucifer isn’t made for the cold, and after eons in Hell he’s even more sensitive to it than his angelic brethren. “I know you’re cold; I’ll make it warm just as soon as you come back,” he promises.

 

_“Dobixzodinu,”_ Lucifer murmurs.

 

“Waterfall,” Amenadiel whispers, and he knows _exactly_ where Lucifer’s mind is—back in what used to be their favorite place.

 

There was a waterfall in the Garden of Eden, pouring clean, clear, cool, crisp, sparkling water into a deep pool, like a great bowl set down amidst lush greenery and jewel-bright flowers. Magnificent parrots all the colors of a rainbow roosted in the trees, squawking, preening and feasting on the bountiful array of fruits and nuts. The water cascaded like a crystal veil over a hidden grotto hewn of rich reddish-brown stone. They would enter from the back, through a cavern, with the mighty roar of water rushing powerfully over their heads, and the stone deliciously smooth and cool beneath their bare feet. Sometimes, on very hot days, they would rest in the grotto and watch the sun shining through that crystal cascade casting dancing rainbows on the damp walls.

 

The falls fell, like a heavy curtain upon a theatre’s stage, over a great shelf of stone, so wide they could stand together with their wings fully extended. Though the sun warmed the water, it was still cool, especially descending suddenly on naked skin. They would brace themselves and rush into it together. Lucifer would always yelp and cling to Amenadiel for a few moments while his body became accustomed to the invigorating chill, then he would laugh, toss his head back, letting the weight of the water comb through his curls, and they would unfurl their wings and enjoy their shower. Then they would dive into the pool and swim and play. And afterwards spend hours lazing in the emerald grass, basking in the sun’s warmth while their wings dried, dozing, talking, eating fruit, and playfully rumpling and preening each other’s feathers beneath the fearless but quizzical gaze of the parrots.

 

“Sober?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“Stone-cold,” Lucifer whimpers wretchedly.

 

Amenadiel immediately turns on the hot water.

 

“Thank you! It’s about bloody time!” Lucifer snaps. He straightens up and steps away, still shivering. “Look at me; I’m practically blue with cold! I hope you’re happy, Amenadiel! Now you and the Detective can share the honor of being the only two people to ever give the Devil blue balls—in completely different ways, of course!” He turns away and, after a moment, reaches for his Milk and Golden Honey body wash. “You can go now, Brother,” he says coldly, dismissively, “I’m not a child or a convict; I don’t need a nanny or a gaoler.”

 

“Are you sure you’re all right, Brother? You don’t feel dizzy or unsteady?” Amenadiel asks anxiously.  “I just don’t want you to fall.”

 

“I’ve fallen before and I don’t remember you being all that concerned about it!” Lucifer fumes with a furious toss of his dark head. “Falling in the shower, falling from Heaven, what does it matter? What’s the bloody difference?”

 

“You’re angry,” Amenadiel observes.

 

“Damn right, I’m angry! That’s something of an understatement, Brother!” Lucifer whirls around to face him. “You did that on purpose!” He accuses with red, fire-blazing eyes. “You put me in a cold shower!”

 

“Yes, I did,” Amenadiel freely admits. “Luci, there are at least a hundred pill bottles in here…”

 

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEAN AND YOU BLOODY WELL KNOW IT!”

 

Despite the pounding shower spray little bursts of flame flare up all over Lucifer’s skin. 

 

It’s Devil time—and tantrum time—again!

 

“I put you in a cold shower to shock you back to your senses and restore your sobriety, Brother,” Amenadiel states calmly. “If it reminded you of something else...I’m sorry, that was not my intention.”

 

“Enough with the mind-games, Amenadiel! Stop pretending! This has nothing to do with how many pills I took and you know it! Just…Go away! Leave me to bathe in peace! To put it delicately—I want to wash everywhere Dr. Wunderbar touched me and, if you don’t mind, I’d sooner not have an audience for that! If you want to make yourself useful, go to the pharmacy and get my prescriptions filled!”

 

‘We’ll talk about that later,” Amenadiel replies diplomatically. Now is definitely _not_ the time to tell Lucifer that he burned his prescriptions. “I’ll leave you alone now, Luci, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself...”

 

“THEN STOP MANIPULATING ME, DAMN IT!” Lucifer’s form flickers wildly between Devil and man and he hurls the bottle of body wash at Amenadiel’s head.

 

Amenadiel ducks swiftly.

 

“You did that on purpose, Amenadiel, and don’t you _dare_ deny it!” Lucifer snarls and his eyes flash fire-red again.

 

Amenadiel is too busy dodging Lucifer’s luxury exfoliating body buffing mitt, shampoo, conditioner, Happy Bum Enema Bulb Syringe, and nourishing almond oil in-shower body lotion to deny anything.  Anyway, he’s already admitted that he put Lucifer in the shower and explained why he did it _and_ apologized for the unforeseen consequences. What more does Lucifer want?

 

“Confess it, Brother! You put me in a cold shower to remind me…You and my bloody wings…manipulating me, making me remember things I want to forget! My wings… _I can’t stand it!_ Suddenly they’re _alive_ with memories! It’s as though they’ve been asleep for ages and now they’re wide awake! I can’t rest! Awake or sleeping, it’s _exhausting_ trying to block them out! It’s like a _happy_ Hell loop I can’t escape, _torturing_ me with memories that would have been pleasant if…if only…” There’s a tightening in his throat and when Lucifer feels the sudden prick of tears he steps back so the cascading water will camouflage them. “Just stop, _please,_ stop! I don’t want to think about it! It hurts too much! I just want to forget! I don’t want to be reminded!”

 

“Luci…” Amenadiel takes a step towards him.

 

“Go away— _Now!_ _Please!”_ Lucifer whimpers like a wounded child with bittersweet chocolate eyes instead of a flaming, furious Devil.

 

“Okay, Luci, okay…” Amenadiel holds up his palms placatingly and backs out, grabs a towel and his clothes, and quickly exits the bathroom.

 

Lucifer waits until he hears the door close then he sinks down under the pelting water, hugs his knees, bows his head, and cries until he has no tears left.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

When Lucifer emerges from the bathroom, wearing only black silk boxer shorts, he goes straight to his piano, but not to play. He stands and stares at the golden box glittering on the glossy black lid. Nestled inside on a bed of black velvet is a pair of Hell-forged daggers, he’s used them before... A wave of dizziness washes over him and he sits down quickly on the piano bench with his back to the keys and leans forward, holding his head in his hands.

 

“Luci?” Amenadiel gently touches his shoulder.

 

“I’m fine,” Lucifer sits up quickly, waving aside his concern, “I’m fine!”

 

“Here, maybe this will help,” Amenadiel presses a glass mug filled with hot chocolate into his hand.

 

“Thank you,” Lucifer accepts and sips gratefully. “Mmmm…This is _divine!_ It’s truly exquisite, Brother! Aren’t you having any?” he asks, and then remembers the shattered glass on the bathroom floor and the stains on the rug. “Come, sit,” he pulls Amenadiel down beside him, “we can share.”

 

They sit and drink in silence, passing the glass back and forth between them.

 

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel carefully begins, “about what you said, about me manipulating you…making you remember…you’re mistaken. As much as I would like for you to be able to look back on those days with joy instead of pain and anger, I can’t, and I wouldn’t, force you to remember. I _know_ how much it hurts, Brother! I still miss…” He stops himself abruptly, knowing he has to tread carefully. “I think when we brought our wings together that is what woke your wings up. I didn’t know that would happen, I just wanted to heal your wounds, and they were so extensive that seemed the best way. I just wanted to ease your pain, Brother, not cause you more. I’m sorry if I have.”

 

“I know,” Lucifer pats his knee and sighs wearily, “and it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known. It’s certainly not the first time our wings have touched…But mine were never wounded before. Actually, it started before that, when you came to me and…held me. It reawakened memories…memories of… tenderness, and stirred certain…longings I thought were dead and buried. I felt my wings spasm, wanting what they haven’t wanted in eons, and I remembered what lov—what it felt like to…Never mind!” He shakes his head and draws a deep breath. “Wounded, perhaps my wings were more susceptible, and the healing only intensified it, but…it really doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing to be done,” he says decisively and stands up.

 

He opens the golden box and takes out a dagger.

 

“Will you do the honors or shall I?” Lucifer asks and unfurls his wings.

 

“ _What?_ Lucifer! _No!”_ Amenadiel jumps up and tries to wrest the dagger from his brother’s hand. _“That_ is not the answer!”

 

“Well it’s the best one I can think of!”

 

Lucifer evades him and begins angling the dagger awkwardly behind his back. After all, he’s done it before, though not without a clumsy, undignified, messy acrobatic struggle in which he felt like he was fighting against himself.

 

Amenadiel lunges for the dagger again, but Lucifer is equally determined not to surrender it.

 

“ _Please,_ Brother, don’t try to stop me! Help me instead!” Lucifer pleads. “The memories give me no peace!”

 

“Then make your peace with them instead of running from them or fighting against them like a cornered animal! Love is not a cancer to be cut out, Lucifer, it’s a precious gift!”

 

“You _dare_ say that after what you did to me?” The fires of Hell ignite in Lucifer’s eyes.

 

“Yes, I dare! If you weren’t so blindly angry and stubborn you would see…and maybe even forgive! If you won’t listen to me, then listen to your wings, Brother, you _know_ they don’t lie!”

 

Amenadiel lunges again and cries out when the curved blade nicks his knuckle.

 

Ruby blood spatters across the pearly whiteness of Lucifer’s wings.

 

Amenadiel pulls his hand away to examine the wound.

 

The dagger clatters to the floor and Lucifer totters back against the piano, ghost-pale and gasping.

 

“Brother…I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…truly, I didn’t!”

 

“I know; it’s okay, Luci, it was just an accident. I’m fine; it’s not deep enough to…”

 

Lucifer’s fingers quickly delve deep into his feathers and pluck out a small fluffy white cloud of down. He presses it onto the cut and watches it melt into his brother’s skin in a flash of golden light.

 

“Better now?” he asks anxiously, his voice tremulous and child-like as his thumb glides gently over the vanished wound.

 

Before Amenadiel can answer, Lucifer’s eyes roll up into his head, revealing their whites, and he crumples in an unconscious heap on the black marble floor.

 

“Lucifer!” Amenadiel drops to his knees and gathers his brother in his arms. He examines his back, to make sure Lucifer didn’t stab himself with the dagger, but the only blood he sees is his own. He feels the skin beneath and between Lucifer’s wings to be sure, but the skin is smooth and unbroken.

 

After a few moments, Lucifer shudders violently, gasps and sits up. He leans his forehead against his knees and shakes his head weakly in response to Amenadiel’s anxious queries.

 

“Just give me a few moments, Brother,” he finally manages to say between jerky, labored breaths.

 

“I’ll help you to bed,” Amenadiel offers, “but first…May I wash the blood from your wings? I just put clean sheets on the bed.”

 

Lucifer nods but keeps his head down and hugs his knees as though he’s trying to still their trembling.

 

Amenadiel quickly fetches a warm, damp washcloth and carefully wipes away the blood. Lucifer’s breath catches and his whole body quivers, but he utters no objections. His feathers push and twitch beneath the gentle pressure of Amenadiel’s fingers, straining to make contact through the cloth. The wings remember. Amenadiel knows they’re starved for affection and attention, they probably haven’t been properly groomed since Lucifer left the Silver City, but after what just happened…now is not the time, both Lucifer and his wings have to want it.

 

“There, all done. Do you want to try to stand up now?” At another nod from Lucifer, Amenadiel helps him up and into the bedroom.

 

Lucifer wraps his wings around his body like a feathered cloak, cocooning himself in their soft white warmth—it’s the natural, instinctive behavior of a distressed angel—and lies down on his side.

 

Amenadiel draws the covers up and tucks them around him.

 

“Another memory?” he asks gently, sitting down on the vacant side of the bed.

 

Lucifer nods, shivers, and curls even tighter into himself.

 

“Can I ask…?”

 

Lucifer is trembling so violently that even his voice shakes. “The time I…long ago…when I…healed your…wing…when…The Swordmaster…”

 

Amenadiel nods, sparing Lucifer the pain of saying more, “I remember…”

 

***

 

Once, many millennia ago, before even dinosaurs walked the earth, before humans were even a twinkle in God’s eye, and all His angels, though born fully formed, were still in the first flush of youth, the Archangel Lucifer went to the arena to watch his eldest brother practicing with the Swordmaster. The pupil stumbled and the teacher’s blade slipped and accidentally nicked his wing. The bone was chipped and scarlet blood poured out to soak Amenadiel’s feathers and drip down onto the hard-packed golden ground. The injury was actually very slight, but wing wounds are like scalp wounds, because of the myriad tiny arteries and veins that run beneath the delicate skin cushioned and hidden by layers of feathers, they always bleed profusely.

 

Lucifer vaulted out of the stands where he was watching with some of his other siblings and hurled himself, full force, at the Swordmaster’s powerfully built body, taking him completely by surprise and knocking him flat. Lucifer straddled him, relentlessly pummeling his face, blow after fierce, furious blow.

 

Bones and teeth cracked beneath Lucifer’s fists, and even when he was blinded by tears he still wouldn’t—or couldn’t—stop. Even the combined efforts of his brothers were no match against Lucifer’s wrath. He snarled and bit and lashed out at everyone who tried to stop him. When Gabriel attempted to distract him by blowing his trumpet in Lucifer’s ear, Lucifer seized and squeezed it into a twisted lump of metal and then shattered Gabriel’s kneecap with his fist before turning his attention back to the now unconscious Swordmaster. Only when the wounded Amenadiel put his hands on Lucifer’s shoulders and spoke softly to him did he cease his rain of blows and let himself be lifted and led away. By that time the Swordmaster’s ears were swollen like the handles of a jug, both his eyes were sunken deep in purple-black pools, his lips were fat as bloated leeches, bursting with blood, and his nose looked like a split plum.

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel cupped Lucifer’s face between his hands, to gentle him and make him focus. “Luci, it’s all right, there’s no reason to be upset.” With his thumbs, he wiped away his brother’s tears. “It was just an accident! Such things are part of a soldier’s training. It’s _nothing!_ It looks worse than it is; wings always bleed a great deal, because of all the little veins. You’ve seen them, you’ve even traced them with your fingertips and felt the blood pulsing within; remember? The blade wasn’t Hell-forged; the wound is slight and will soon mend.”

 

Lucifer tenderly took his brother’s wing in his hands and examined the roughhewn “v” that was formed when a fragment of pearly white bone was gouged out by the broadsword’s mighty blade, framed by ragged, frayed feathers and torn blood-weeping flesh.

 

“See? It’s nothing to worry about…”

 

Lucifer plucked a tiny puff of pure white down from his own wing and pressed it into the gap of missing bone and watched as, with a burst of divine light, bone, skin, and feathers became whole again.

 

“Better now?” he smiled anxiously up at Amenadiel.

 

“Better now,” Amenadiel smiled and nodded.

 

 “I’m part of your bones now, Brother.”

 

“You already were; you always have been,” Amenadiel wrapped his arms around his little brother and pressed a kiss onto the top of his curly head and led him from the arena.

 

***

 

“I remember,” Amenadiel nods again, and, leaning over, dares brush a wavy wing of dark hair back from Lucifer’s brow. Fresh from the shower, free of styling products, the rebellious lock is trying to revert to its natural curl. He resists the temptation to twist it around his finger the way he used to do. He’s relieved to see the trembling has subsided and Lucifer is breathing normally again.

 

Amenadiel decides to gamble, and dares speak aloud his memories.

 

“You insisted on taking me back to your palace to bathe and groom my wings. And that night I fell asleep wrapped in your wings. You were so intense and loving; I’d never seen you so solemn before.”

 

“Well I’d never seen you bleed before, Brother. And I’d never thought much about loss or…death before. Actually, I don’t think I had ever thought about those things at all,” he reflects. “I was so afraid that Father was punishing me for my complacency; for taking you for granted. I was very young, naïve, and innocent,” he adds with a brittle, bitter little laugh, “I thought you would love me forever. It had never even occurred to me that you wouldn’t always be there to love me or that you might stop someday.”

 

“Now that’s what I don’t understand, Luci,” Amenadiel leans on his elbow and looks down at his brother. “What makes you think that I stopped?”

 

“As if you didn’t know!” Lucifer scoffs and gathers his wings closer about him. “Goodnight, Brother,” he says in a tone of frosty dismissal, “I’m tired and wish to sleep.”

 

“Lucifer, it’s 3:15 in the afternoon.”

 

“Oh? Is it really? Well good _afternoon_ then, Brother! I’m _still_ tired and want to sleep!”

 

“All right, Luci, all right…” Amenadiel sighs and starts to get up. He knows perfectly well that Lucifer is using sleep as an evasive tactic, even if he is genuinely tired. They _will_ talk about it eventually, but tomorrow the police are coming to take Lucifer’s statement, so it’s probably better not to push and to just let him rest. “Sleep well, Brother.”

 

“Brother…” Lucifer rolls over suddenly, his wings flopping across the mattress, “Did you ever go back? After I was gone?”

 

“Where?” Amenadiel asks half-kneeling on the bed.

 

“To our waterfall.”

 

“Only once, eons after we were last there, just to say goodbye. I wanted to see it one more time before they dynamited it to build the 7-Eleven.”

 

_“A 7-Eleven?”_ Lucifer bolts up, his wings shooting out and barely missing the bedside lamps.  “Slurpees, lottery tickets, chewing gum, and canned soup where our beautiful waterfall used to be! Oh no, this is _terrible,_ Brother! Did they dynamite the parrots too?”

 

“I think the parrots must have left a long time ago, Luci, I didn’t see any sign of them, not even feathers.”

 

He doesn’t tell Lucifer that the waterfall had slowed to a muddy trickle or about the nauseating brown water with a dead possum floating in it, the beer cans, used condoms, empty chip bags and candy wrappers littering the overgrown grass that probably still harbored snakes, or the drug paraphernalia and spray painted graffiti inside the grotto; he’d rather his brother remember it the way it used to be, when they were happy there.

 

“Did you bathe in the falls or go for one last swim, for old times’ sake?” Lucifer asks.

 

“No, Luci,” Amenadiel manages to conceal his disgust at the thought of that filthy water touching any part of his body, “it wouldn’t have been the same without you. What about you? Did you ever go back?”

 

“No, I only ever went there with you,” mindful of the lamps, Lucifer draws his wings back in and settles himself more comfortably against the pillows, fluffing his feathers. 

 

“You never went there with Eve? I always assumed…”

 

“ _No!_ That was _our_ place, Brother!” Lucifer exclaims, surprised and hurt by the suggestion, and his wingtips give a petulant little flap. “Of course, I can’t say Eve never went there, by herself or with Adam, the waterfall was in Eden, and surely they must have explored the place...but I was never there with her, only you.” He nibbles thoughtfully on his lower lip. “This is such sad news!” And then he adds, in a barely audible whisper, “It means we can never go back…”

 

Hope springs alert in Amenadiel’s heart again. Is the coldness finally thawing, the ages-old anger dying, or is this just another moment?

 

Amenadiel hesitates and then reaches deep into his pocket. He hands Lucifer a rich reddish-brown stone, smooth, roundish and flat, about three-and-a-half inches long, shaped, depending on the eye of the beholder, like a giant jellybean or a wide taffy-pulled heart with a blunted tip.

 

“Is this…?” Lucifer rolls it over in his hands. “It _is_ my preening stone! You kept it, Brother?” He looks up in surprise. “After I left, you _still_ kept it?”

 

Amenadiel nods, the answer is obvious.

 

They had found the stone the same day they found their waterfall. They had both seen and reached for it at the same time, diving to the bottom.

 

Always sensitive and high-strung, during periods of extreme upset Lucifer’s preening gland had a tendency to become clogged and painfully swollen. The _Noledisa,_ the Silver City’s Healer, had recommended fewer tantrums, less quarreling and sulking, and the application of hot stones. Lucifer had responded by smashing a large glass jar filled with leeches over the Healer’s head and screaming “Put a hot stone on your head and see how you like it!” as Amenadiel hurriedly slung him over his shoulder and carried him out, with Lucifer’s wings knocking everything they could reach off the shelves lining the walls just for spite.

 

Although initially very wary at having a stone taken straight from the fireplace placed upon the delicate and tender skin beneath his feathers, Lucifer was delighted to discover that it felt incredibly good, and was also a quick and efficacious remedy that soon had the preening oil flowing freely again. Even when his preening gland was functioning perfectly, he would ask Amenadiel to heat the preening stone and rub his wings and back with it. He found it very comforting and soothing, the same way he did hot lemon tonics and tummy rubs even when he hadn’t eaten too much crystal candy. And while Lucifer had had many different stones over many millennia, each one discarded as a better one was discovered, from the day that they found it, the stone from the waterfall in Eden had been his favorite; it had become _the_ preening stone and no other would do.

 

“Would you like to have it?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“Yes,” Lucifer nods, but then smiles and gives the stone back to Amenadiel. “You keep it for me, Brother, just like you always have.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

“It’s all true…”

 

The look of shocked horror on Chloe Decker’s face says it all. If he were standing close enough Lucifer knows he would see his Devil Face mirrored in her eyes.

 

Why now? Why like this? Is this his punishment for killing Cain, for taking a human life? To have what was lost restored at the most inopportune moment, to lose Chloe, when hope was finally hovering on the horizon.  He can still feel her hands stroking his face, and hear her soft, tenderly spoken words “No, you’re not, not to me…” when he told her the truth “I am the Devil.” But telling and showing are two different things. And this is _not_ the way he would have chosen. Not like this, _never_ like this!

 

“Detective…”

 

He wants to reassure her, to beg her not to be afraid of him, and of what her eyes see, but every word suddenly seems as worthless as he feels. And would words really make a difference, would the syllables even penetrate her brain, when a blistered and bald, burn-ravaged red monster stands before her like some nightmarish fiend stepped out of a horror movie? Perhaps if they had watched _Nightmare on Elm Street_ together that might have helped prepare her in some small measure? At least he might have sounded her out—“Detective, could you love a man with a face like that?” If only he had thought of it sooner…but too late now!

 

Tears simmer in his flaming eyes. Now seeing is believing and all hope of love is dead.

 

“It’s all true…” Chloe repeats, her voice monotonous and trance-like. Her feet shuffle uncertainly against the marble floor. Is she advancing or retreating? Will she draw her weapon and shoot him down or turn and flee as fast as her feet will carry her? And what of her mind; has the horrible, monstrous sight of him broken her as it has so many others before?

 

“Chloe…”

 

“STOP! Don’t come any closer!” She draws her weapon and levels it at the _thing_ standing before her. “I said: _Get back!_ Stay where you are! Don’t come near me!”

 

“Chloe, _please,_ don’t be afraid…”

 

“It’s true, you really _are_ the Devil! You’re a monster, just like you said you were!”

 

“Chloe, _please_ …”

 

A monster stands before her, and it’s speaking to her with Lucifer’s voice, begging her, beseeching her, not to fear it. It’s true, Lucifer _is_ a monster! He’s the Devil! She can’t bear the sight of those red, flaming eyes looking at her. She takes aim, and first the left, and then the right, eyeball explodes like a grape squashed violently under a slammed boot-heel.

 

Huge blood-spattered white wings erupt from his back and the blood-oozing vacant sockets fix unnervingly on her. He can still sense her even if he can’t see her. Her heart seizes at his unearthly howl of pain. But fear is greater than pity. Fear causes her finger to squeeze the trigger again, and again, and again, until every bullet is lodged in Lucifer’s heart.

 

“Lucifer! Lucifer! Wake up! Wake up!”

 

Amenadiel was almost asleep, nodding off over a book in his bed in the guestroom, when that sharp, keening, pain-filled wail shattered the night.

 

Lucifer writhes in agony against his tear-soaked pillow, crying in his sleep. “No, _please,_ Chloe, don’t! _Don’t!_ _Please!_ Don’t be afraid of me! _Please!_ _Chloe!_ _Please!”_

 

“Lucifer, wake up!” Amenadiel shakes him urgently. “Wake up!”

 

With an anguished cry, Lucifer bolts up and straight into Amenadiel’s arms. His wings burst from his back in an explosion of white, and his heart is beating like a war drum—relentless, hard and fast. He lays his head on his brother’s shoulder, sobbing like a scared, brokenhearted child.

 

“Shhh, it’s okay, it was just a dream, just a bad dream. You’re safe; _javanil_ _rila,_ _lucifitas_ (fear not, bright one),” Amenadiel whispers as Lucifer clings to him. He holds him close, rocking him gently, rubbing his back above and below his wings, listening to the ragged, rapid tear-choked breathing, waiting patiently for it to grow calm and steady again.

 

“She hates me! She doesn’t want me anywhere near her! She thinks I’m a monster!”

 

Lucifer’s tears bathe Amenadiel’s shoulder.

 

“No, no, Luci, she doesn’t! You’re not a monster, and Chloe knows that!” Tears flood Amenadiel’s eyes. It hurts to see Lucifer suffering like this, so doubtful and frightened.  “It was just a bad dream!”

 

“But it seemed so _real!”_

 

“The worst dreams always do.”

 

Lucifer nods. “Like the time I dreamt I was having sex with Napoleon and a whole necropolis of dead Egyptian cats was watching us.”

 

“Yes, Brother, that does sound terrible,” Amenadiel has to admit.

 

After several minutes, Lucifer stops shaking and pulls away, awkwardly aware that he’s been clinging to Amenadiel like some frightened fledgling.

 

“I’m all right now, thank you, Brother,” he says and tucks his wings away. “Just another nightmare, it’s nothing, I’ve had them for eons,” he adds, lying down and rolling onto his side, “not this particular one of course, but nightmares in general.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Amenadiel lets his hand rest lightly, rubbing gently, on Lucifer’s shoulder, “you hardly ever had them in the Silver City. I’m sorry your sleep is so troubled, Brother.”

 

“Why do you think I hate to sleep alone?” Lucifer scoffs bitterly, hugging Chloe’s shirt against his heart. “Contrary to popular belief, Brother, everything isn’t _always_ about sex with me!”

 

“Would you like me to stay?” Amenadiel asks softly.

 

Lucifer takes so long to answer that Amenadiel starts to get up.

 

“Very well, Brother, you can stay, if you like,” he nonchalantly agrees, like he’s granting a favor. “But stay on your side of the bed, and don’t try to hug me with your wings, or I’ll throw you off the balcony.”

 

“I’d like to see you try!” Amenadiel laughs and turns off the light.

 

“Would you now?” Lucifer’s eyes flash a red warning.

 

“Go to sleep, Luci!” Amenadiel chuckles and plumps the pillow beneath his head.

 

***

 

“Just a minute, honey, you stay here, and let me go check and make sure it’s okay,” Dan says, motioning for Trixie to wait beside the elevator.

 

Ever since Chloe told her that Lucifer hurt his back and had to stay home and rest, Trixie has been begging to visit him. Since Chloe said it was okay, Dan finally agreed to a brief stop-by this morning. Trixie’s class is going on a field trip to the Natural History Museum, so Dan made a quick call to the principal and arranged to meet them there, neatly allowing time to visit Lucifer without a frantic get to work, get to school, on time rush.

 

Heading nervously towards Lucifer’s bedroom—God only knows what he’ll find there!—Dan pauses midway and frowns down at a big bulging black garbage bag by the piano. It’s filled with hundreds of empty prescription bottles all bearing the name Lucifer Morningstar. Dan shakes his head in disgust.

 

Mounting the marble steps leading up to Lucifer’s inner sanctum, he hears a whimper, followed by a soothing murmur. There are two bodies in the bed—two bare-chested _male_ bodies! _Great!_ _Real classy dude!_ _So much for that back injury!_ He’s just glad Chloe isn’t here to see this. In the morning light filtering weakly through the sheer black draperies, he can see Lucifer lying on his side, almost spoon-style, with a big muscular black man behind him. The way the champagne satin pillow is bunched up Dan can’t see the guy’s head, but he’s in no doubt that it’s a dude, no woman has a back like that except maybe a bodybuilder chick pumped full of steroids. The guy’s hand is on Lucifer’s shoulder, rubbing gently in small, soothing circles.

 

Dan shakes his head and starts backing away. He’s going to have to tell Trixie that now is just not a good time to visit; he’s not exposing his daughter to this kind of thing. Suddenly a blur of purple and hot pink shoots past him and Trixie cannonballs onto the bed, excitedly squealing “LUCIFER! AMENADIEL!”

 

Yep, Trixie’s right—it is Lucifer’s brother in his bed and not some random dude he picked up from the bar downstairs. Somehow Dan isn’t really sure if that’s better or worse. _God, I hope they’re not naked!_ _Please, don’t let them be naked!_ keeps running through his mind like a chant since he can only see them from the waist up.

 

He’s never given it any thought, but if he had, Dan would have assumed the penthouse had at least one guestroom. But there are couches, comfortable couches, Dan knows, he fell asleep on one once, so _why_ would Amenadiel choose to sleep in bed with Lucifer? Surely even the marble floor, a glass coffee table, or even the kitchen counter would be preferable!

 

“Hey, Trixie!” Amenadiel smiles sleepily and sits up. “Dan,” he nods. “Is everything okay?” Something seems a little off with Dan; he looks like he’s confused or worried about something.

 

“Um…yeah…sure, man,” Dan nods awkwardly. “Just surprised to see you…um…you know…here…that’s all.”

 

Now it’s Amenadiel’s turn to look confused. They’ve met for drinks several times downstairs at Lux, so why should Dan be surprised to see him upstairs in Lucifer’s penthouse? Quarrels notwithstanding, they are brothers, and even though Lucifer has thrown him out several times, it’s understood that he’ll always come back.

 

“Mommy said Lucifer hurt his back and smoke from the fire made him sick so he has to stay in bed and rest,” Trixie says, leaning over to cautiously examine Lucifer.

 

“That’s right, so let’s not press too hard on his back,” Amenadiel gently guides her little hands away so she won’t accidentally trigger Lucifer’s wings. “He didn’t sleep well last night; he had nightmares, so he may be a little grumpy this morning.”

 

“That’s okay,” Trixie smiles, “I have nightmares too sometimes.”

 

Lucifer groans, rolls over, tugs off his black satin sleep mask, grimaces, and sits up. “Child, your mother reads you stories about ice-skating hedgehogs, I’m surprised you’re not screaming your throat raw every night!”

 

“I like Sonia the Ice-Skating Hedgehog,” Amenadiel says, “I found her story very inspirational and uplifting.”

 

“Yes, Brother,” Lucifer nods knowingly, “I’d be _very_ surprised if you did not!”

 

Amenadiel reaches out, in a way that seems disturbingly familiar to Dan, and helps adjust the pillows behind his brother’s back and Lucifer nods his thanks.

 

“We have a new storybook about an ugly garden slug who falls in love with a beautiful white dove,” Trixie volunteers.

 

Lucifer and Amenadiel share a startled glance.

 

“This can’t possibly end well,” Lucifer says.

 

“Maybe it’s one of those situations where a kiss makes everything better—like when Cinderella kisses a pumpkin and it turns into a handsome prince.” Amenadiel suggests.

 

“You mean a frog, Brother!” Lucifer corrects.

 

“Now why would a pumpkin turn into a frog? How is that better, Luci? At least you can make a pie out of a pumpkin, and they taste much better than frogs! You never see Starbucks offering frog flavored lattes, but they have pumpkin spice lattes every autumn!”

 

“No, Brother! I mean Cinderella’s kiss turns a frog into a prince! The pumpkin doesn’t get kissed at all; Cinderella’s fairy godmother turns it into a coach, so the six white mice can convey them to the ball.”

 

“Mice?” Amenadiel asks doubtfully. “Why mice?”

 

“How the Me should I know?” Lucifer snaps. “Why don’t you go back to the Silver City and look up the Brothers Grimm and ask them?”

 

“Maybe I will, I just don’t see how six mice could possibly pull the weight of two full-grown humans and a coach!”

 

“It’s magic, Brother! And it was a coach-and-four, so only four mice did the actual pulling, the other two served as coachman and footman.”

 

“Wait—is this the one where she has to be home by midnight or she falls under a curse and has to sleep for a hundred years?”

 

 “Or until she’s awakened by the kiss of seven dwarves, yes,” Lucifer confirms.

 

“Seven? Why seven?” Amenadiel furrows his brow. “I always wondered why it has to be seven dwarves.”

 

“They’re dwarves, Brother! Being kissed by less than seven would be insufficient, but by more would be overwhelming! I daresay I could manage seven dwarves in this bed quite well if I had a mind to!”

 

“Lucifer, there’s a child present!” Amenadiel reminds him, nodding towards Trixie kneeling on the foot of the bed, watching them and giggling.

 

“Well what of it? It’s a children’s story, Brother!”

 

“Not the way you’re telling it!” Amenadiel scolds.

 

“My point is, Brother, it has to be _just right,_ because that’s the way fairy tales are! Everything has to be _just right_ —like Goldilocks sampling porridge and testing mattresses in the three little pigs’ houses.”

 

“Aren’t they funny, Daddy?” Trixie grins.

 

“Yeah, a barrel of laughs, Monkey,” Dan nods and smiles unconvincingly. Personally he thinks they bicker like an old married couple.

 

“Speaking of fairy tales…I never did understand Little Red Riding Hood,” Amenadiel admits.

 

“Well that makes two of us, Brother! I mean can the child not tell the difference between her own grandmother and a wolf? Does the grandmother suffer from lycanthropy and have an unusually long snout and such an excess of facial and body hair that everyone just takes it for granted that she resembles a wolf? And if so, how the Me did she manage to live to a ripe old age—in human years—without being shot while living in a forest that is presumably frequented by hunters? If she looks that much like a wolf, you’d think someone would take a shot at her every time she steps out to hang her laundry!”

 

“Exactly!” Amenadiel agrees. “And I always wondered how the wolf managed to put on the grandmother’s clothes and impersonate her voice well enough to fool her own granddaughter.”

 

“Well any sensible person would!” Lucifer nods vigorously. “Maybe Little Red Riding Hood was schizophrenic or on a mushroom-trip and only hallucinated a talking wolf wearing old lady clothes? Now I’m not suggesting she was a habitual drug user, but perhaps Little Red felt a tad peckish on the way to Grandmother’s house and picked the wrong mushrooms by mistake.”

 

“Hmmm,” Amenadiel nods thoughtfully, “that’s a very astute observation, Luci. I never considered the role hallucinogenic drugs or mental illness might have played in this story.”

 

“Of course, it is equally possible that she was merely simple-minded,” Lucifer adds thoughtfully. “That could also explain her picking the wrong mushrooms.”

 

“Or maybe we’re being unfair to her, Luci, maybe that poor little girl needed glasses and her parents couldn’t afford to buy her any, and that’s why she mistook the wolf for her grandmother…or picked the wrong mushrooms.”

 

 Lucifer shakes his head. “No, that won’t do at all, Brother! Bad eyesight doesn’t explain the talking wolf! Now, it could have been a prank perpetrated by one of the village lads or possibly even one of Little Red’s siblings, taking advantage of the fact that she was possibly delusional, simple-minded, blind, or even all three.”

 

“But, Luci, her parents trusted her to walk alone through the woods to her grandmother’s house! Surely they wouldn’t do that if she was blind or simple-minded, or suffering from obvious signs of mental illness!”

 

“Maybe they were hoping she’d get lost and _stay_ lost or be eaten by a wolf!” Lucifer says pointedly.

 

“Did she have many siblings? You know, the poorer classes were often burdened with too many mouths to feed before reliable methods of birth control became widely available.”

 

“Or maybe Little Red Riding Hood was just _really_ annoying and prone to over-thinking every bloody thing and they wanted her gone! If so, Brother, honesty compels me to admit that there are moments when I can readily sympathize!”

 

“Ha Ha, me too, Luci, me too!”

 

“Guys, guys,” Dan decides it’s time to intervene, “lighten up, okay? It’s just a story!”

 

“Remind me what happened next,” Amenadiel says, “after Little Red Riding Hood arrived with her basket of goodies and realized there was a wolf in Grandma’s clothing.”

 

Trixie starts to answer, but Dan quickly clamps a hand over her mouth. “They all lived happily ever after!”

 

“Well that seems rather premature!” Lucifer declares.

 

“How?” Amenadiel asks, genuinely bewildered.

 

“Well…” Dan considers, “the wolf was just about to pounce on Little Red Riding Hood when she screamed, leapt away, and dropped her basket on the bed. The basket fell over on its side, revealing that it was full of yummy, delicious chocolate pudding that the little girl had made as a surprise for her grandmother. The wolf was so happy that it forgot all about eating Little Red Riding Hood, and she ran away while the wolf was lapping up the yummy, delicious chocolate pudding. But…since Little Red Riding Hood had left her glasses at home—they were a gift from her fairy godmother—she took a wrong turn in the woods, and had to stop at a woodcarver’s cottage to ask for directions. The woodcarver and his wife were happy and prosperous, they had everything they wanted except a child, and they thought Little Red Riding Hood was so adorable that they wanted to adopt her. Since her parents already had so many children they didn’t know what to do, they agreed, because they knew it would give her a better chance in life. So Little Red Riding Hood went to live with the woodcarver and his wife and she grew up happy and healthy and became a beautiful young woman and married a prince—her fairy godmother introduced them at a ball—and they all lived happily ever after. The end! We’ve got to go now, guys, we don’t want to be late for the Natural History Museum! Come on, Monkey,” he grabs Trixie’s hand, “you don’t want to miss the Insect Zoo and the Hall of Dinosaurs!”

 

“Bye Lucifer! Bye Amenadiel!” Trixie waves as Dan hurries her out the door.

 

“Bye, Trixie!”

 

“Goodbye, Child!”

 

Lucifer settles back against the pillows and folds his arms across his chest.

 

“What’s the matter now?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“I was just wondering…Why would a wolf prefer pudding over meat?”

 

“Well…Maybe the wolf had an abscessed tooth and it was hard for him to eat solid food. Or maybe Little Red Riding Hood didn’t have enough meat on her bones to tempt him. As a poor child from a large, impoverished family, she was probably suffering from malnutrition.”

 

“But if they were so poor, Brother, how did they afford the chocolate to make the pudding for Grandmother? Chocolate remained a luxury good well into the nineteenth century, until the Industrial Revolution when Fry & Sons, Cadbury, and Hershey began making affordably priced solid milk chocolate bars especially marketed for the masses. Granted, cocoa powder, for drinking chocolate, was available much earlier, but it was still considered an aristocratic beverage. A child of Little Red Riding Hood’s class would likely have never even tasted chocolate; I’d be very surprised if she even knew what it was.”

 

“You’re right, Luci,” Amenadiel nods thoughtfully. “I hadn’t even considered that! Hmmm…well…maybe a nice noblewoman took pity on her and gave it to her as a gift for her poor, sick grandmother, or maybe she…found the chocolate somewhere, maybe it fell off a stagecoach and she just picked it up.”

 

“Fell off a stagecoach as in she stole it, Brother?” Lucifer smirks and arches his brows.

  
”No, Luci, surely not! She was just a little girl, quite possibly visually and mentally impaired! You know, maybe we are over-thinking this. Maybe the chocolate pudding was a later addition, you know, an embellishment, to the story? Maybe it was originally something more common like custard—sweetened with honey or fruit, of course, since vanilla was even more expensive and harder to come by than chocolate in those days.”

 

“I suppose…but I still can’t see a wolf getting all hot and bothered about custard!”

 

“Yeah,” Amenadiel nods and slumps back against the pillows, “that is difficult to imagine…”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Lucifer completely charms officers Brindley and Scott when they come to take his statement. The four of them have a lovely lunch and they even have a good laugh over the x-rays of a pregnant camel—once they figure out what it is—that Dr. Wunderbar accidentally sent in lieu of Lucifer’s presumed x-rays. Lucifer apologetically explains that he became disoriented in the smoke of the burning building, suffered a traumatic PTSD flashback concerning unfortunate events from his youth that he’d rather not go into, and panicked and asked his brother to take him home. Amenadiel had been out of town visiting relatives and had no idea until afterwards that he had taken his brother away from an active crime scene; Lucifer’s health and well-being were understandably his top priorities at the time.

 

“It was all a simple misunderstanding,” Lucifer deftly reassures them. “If I had been myself, I would never have left Detective Decker’s side.”

 

“That’s absolutely true,” Amenadiel agrees.

 

Still confined to bed because of his back injury, Lucifer sits propped up against his pillows, wearing his favorite black dressing gown with the crimson collar and cuffs, and playing the gracious and attentive host.

 

The ladies sit at the little rose-adorned white wrought iron table-for-two that Amenadiel brought in just for them and placed beside the bed within hand-kissing distance.

 

Inspired by their early morning discussion about Little Red Riding Hood, Amenadiel unleashed his creativity in the penthouse kitchen and prepared an unforgettable lunch consisting of chocolate macaroni casserole, Nutella mashed potatoes, chilled ghost pepper and raspberry custard, and red salad.

 

Officers Brindley and Scott are quite adamant that it’s like nothing they’ve ever tasted before.

 

Amenadiel beams proudly and modestly explains that he can’t take all the credit. He got the recipe for the casserole from _Good Housekeeping_ magazine; he merely substituted Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup for Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup since he and his brother both agree that canned soup is one of mankind’s greatest atrocities and abominations. But the red salad is entirely his creation. It’s a vibrant medley of every red, or reddish, colored fruit and vegetable the Farmer’s Market could provide drowned in a dressing made from a unique blend of barbeque sauce, strawberry syrup, Himalayan red honey, and Sriracha sauce.

 

Fortunately for the ladies’ taste-buds, dessert is provided by a master baker who owes Lucifer a favor. He delivers a delightfully decadent assortment of red velvet, devil’s food, black forest, and strawberry shortcake _petits_ - _fours_ and “sinfully delicious” red velvet lattes.

 

Before they leave, Lucifer adds their names to The List, so they never have to stand in line and can have free drinks anytime they like at Lux. He asks Amenadiel to wrap the two dozen American Beauty red roses and the remaining _petits_ - _fours_ for the two lovely lady officers to take home with them.  But they politely decline the luncheon leftovers and hurry away; coincidentally, they both need to stop by the drugstore to get their husbands’ heartburn medications refilled before they return to the precinct.

 

In the elevator, the two officers can’t help but agree, Lucifer is a charming devil, and his brother is very nice too, but Dan Espinoza is right—that family really is _weird!_

 

***

 

Statement given and police apparently satisfied, Lucifer roams restlessly about his penthouse like a caged animal or slouches listlessly on the sofa, or in a chair out on the balcony when Amenadiel encourages him to get some sun. This quickly becomes the new pattern of Lucifer’s life, repeated day after dull, monotonous day despite Dr. Linda’s assurances that engaging in some form of mentally stimulating activity will help the time pass quicker, and with less anxiety, while he’s waiting to hear from Chloe. And it is the age of cell phones, so there’s no need to sit at home waiting for the phone to ring. But Lucifer doesn’t want to go anywhere.

 

Amenadiel tries to persuade him to go see the new aardvark at the zoo with Trixie and Dan, and to attend a celebratory bash hosted by the Lifetime Network in honor of Penelope Decker. But Lucifer isn’t in the mood for either. Although he urges his brother to “go out and have fun,” Amenadiel refuses to go without him. So both of them stay home and Lucifer sends two dozen long-stemmed red and white roses to Mama Decker and a big bag of marshmallows for Trixie to feed the aardvark, after arguing for about an hour with Amenadiel about whether aardvarks even like marshmallows; Google was supremely unhelpful on that subject. Finally, they both agree that if the marshmallows are thrown on the ground they will attract plenty of ants so either way the anteater is bound to be pleased.

 

The truth is Lucifer doesn’t want to do anything. He just mopes around the penthouse in one luxurious robe after another waiting for his phone to buzz, beep, or ring. He won’t even consider joining a sand art or candle-making class with Amenadiel, and he isn’t interested in Fifty Fantastic Fudge Recipes or Bread-Making for Beginners either; even debate-stimulating courses like Syphilis and the Novels of Bram Stoker and How to Interpret _Alice in Wonderland_ fail to tempt him. He isn’t in the mood for sex and lacks the concentration for books—sometimes he tries, but after reading the same sentence five times without a word penetrating his brain, he gives up. He tries to watch television and stares mindlessly at the screen, but his mind tends to wander—right back to Chloe. Although after Penelope Decker calls, thanking him effusively for the beautiful roses, and gushing about how _The Boy Scout Next Door_ is destined to become a classic just like _Stalked by My Doctor_ , his curiosity is aroused, and he curls up on the couch with Amenadiel and a big bowl of caramel-cheddar-jalapeno-ranch popcorn mixed with jellybeans to watch this previously unheard of classic on Netflix.

 

Both of them are completely bewildered by the strange saga of the obsessive and deranged silver fox surgeon Dr. Albert Beck and his quest to find true love with a teenage girl.

 

“Brother, has the meaning of the word ‘classic’ changed?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“I don’t think so, but…after seeing this…possibly, it must?” Lucifer frowns equally perplexed.

 

Dr. Beck has just kidnapped high school senior Sophie Green, faked her death in a flaming car, and tied her to his bed and threatened to amputate all her limbs so she’ll be completely dependent on him and have to love him.

 

“I was expecting something more like _Casablanca_ or _A Room with a View_ , or even _Jaws_ ,” Amenadiel says taking another handful of popcorn and jellybeans.

 

“Oh, let’s watch that next, Brother; you know I love the sharks!”

 

Glad to see his brother showing an interest in something, Amenadiel agrees and they stay up all night watching _Jaws_ and its sequels.

 

***

 

About a hundred times a day Lucifer lights on the piano bench and lets his fingers pluck out a few halfhearted strains, and then he’s up, pacing again, leaving whiskey glasses and overflowing crystal ashtrays scattered in his wake. All he does is drink and smoke and sleep, or try to. The only reason he doesn’t take drugs is because he doesn’t have any. And since Amenadiel burned his prescriptions, obtaining more would require more effort than Lucifer is willing to make. He’s certainly not in the mood for Dr. Wunderbar, especially after the confusion created by the camel x-rays. He tells Amenadiel that once this whole mess about Pierce is sorted he and the doctor are permanently parting ways. Amenadiel is so happy to hear it that he makes Lucifer a batch of Cherry Icebox Cookies, following the recipe from his Cherished Cookie Classics class exactly even though he’s tempted to try perking them up with peppers.

 

The perpetual party at Lux holds no allure; Lucifer refuses to even go downstairs. He doesn’t want to meet and greet people, dance, flirt, or play the piano and sing. All he wants is Chloe. Every time the screen of his phone lights up his heart swells with hope and then sinks like a stone when it’s only a telemarketer or someone hoping for a hook-up. When Lucifer seeks refuge in sleep, even with Amenadiel beside him, nightmares torment him, deep buried memories rise from their grave and clutch with an iron grip at his heart, and the Hell loop of Chloe’s rejection begins anew. Better to never sleep again Lucifer thinks every time he wakes up screaming or sobbing.

 

***

 

It’s been _ten_ _days_ since Chloe left! Lucifer can hardly believe it! _Ten whole days!_ Surely such a lengthy absence must mean that she’s never coming back. _Never!_ The signs are all there, even a blind-man or a half-wit could see them! Amenadiel is obviously trying to gently accustom him to the idea of life without her, that’s why he keeps suggesting that Lucifer should do things like take a class to learn how to paint glow-in-the-dark jellyfish on black velvet or bake a seaweed and sour cream wedding cake.  That’s clearly a not so veiled hint that he wants Lucifer to join him in the wedding planning business.

 

TLC is having yet another of their eternal marathons of _Say Yes to the Dress_ and Amenadiel has been watching. Lucifer knows, because he’s been watching too. They like the brides who choose colored dresses best, instead of the seemingly endless parade of blah and boring white gowns that their mothers always want them to wear, and endless off-white shades like cream, eggshell, and ivory. They cheer for the girls who stand their ground and go for the flamboyant floral and houndstooth print gowns. Lucifer knows his brother well enough to know that Amenadiel is thinking that this could be a very joyful business venture that would bring happiness to everyone involved. Plus it would be the perfect outlet for all his creative interests.

 

Cake decorating supply and beading catalogs, samples of quilting squares, and crochet patterns have been coming in the mail addressed to Amen A. Diel care of Lucifer Morningstar. And he’s been using a business card from Lena’s School of Flower Arranging as a bookmark! Yesterday, there was a catalog from a company boasting that they offer over 500 different shades of glitter, and the day before that not one but _two_ coupons, one to save 15% at Jessica’s Yarn Barn, and another for 10% off at Lady L’s Lace Palace. The beauty on the postcard modeling a wedding veil resembled Chloe, and that brought tears to Lucifer’s eyes. True, Amenadiel did mention something about a mailing list for one of his crafting classes several weeks back, but, in Lucifer’s eyes, it’s still highly suspicious.

 

Obviously, Amenadiel is trying to tell Lucifer that his days as a civilian consultant for the LAPD are over and he doesn’t want him returning to his aimless, hedonistic pre-Chloe playboy lifestyle. Could anything be more obvious? Maybe it can be a wedding planning business/detective agency since Lucifer has demonstrated a genuine flair for crime-solving. If Superman can churn out newspaper articles while masquerading as mild-mannered Clark Kent and catch criminals too then surely the Devil and the First and Foremost of God’s Angels should be able to combine punishing the guilty with the purveying of high-quality, elegant wedding arrangements. Granted, they might have to multi-task sometimes, like combining cake tastings with interrogations, but that shouldn’t be a problem, and if they use a party bus for bachelor/bachelorette parties they can still do stakeouts. And Amenadiel really seemed to enjoy pondering the mystery of Little Red Riding Hood so maybe he has some hitherto undetected crime-solving skills. Lucifer has already decided that he’ll use that as a counterargument when his brother pops the question. That’s why he got up early and surprised Amenadiel by making triple chocolate pancakes with salsa for breakfast.

 

Chloe has probably already discreetly arranged a transfer and is making plans to move cross-country to start a new life hiding from the Devil amongst the cornfields of Nebraska. With every passing day, Lucifer becomes even more convinced of it. Every time he sees a U-Haul truck or moving van he feels like crying.

 

And the last time Dr. Linda stopped by she suggested that maybe Lucifer and Amenadiel should start having “sessions” with her. Surely she wouldn’t do _that_ if she didn’t have some inkling that Chloe wasn’t coming back!

 

After a moment’s panic—“What is it with you doctors all of a sudden? Do all of you have an incest fixation?”—Lucifer was very relieved to learn that she meant actual therapy sessions, not a threesome, but that did nothing to quell his confusion.

 

“Is this about the marshmallows and the aardvark?”

 

“No, Luci!”

 

“I thought we settled that…”

 

“We did!”

 

“I thought we were getting along better!”

 

“We are!”

 

“Good, I’m glad to hear you say it, because I can’t think of anything else we’d need brothers’ therapy for! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather tired, I’m going to take a nap!” And with that Lucifer retreated to his bedroom, leaving his brother and therapist sighing and shaking their heads.

 

“So an aardvark, huh? I thought it was the elephant in the room you were worried about, Amenadiel. So now there’s an elephant _and_ an aardvark?”

 

“The aardvark has already been taken care of,” Amenadiel said, staring worriedly after his brother, “we sent him a big bag of marshmallows.”

 

“Oh! That’s…nice!” Dr. Linda smiled and rubbed the lenses of her glasses clean. “So do aardvarks like marshmallows? I thought they only ate ants.”

 

“Well…marshmallows attract ants…” Amenadiel endeavored to explain while Lucifer hugged Chloe’s shirt against his heart. Wishes swam like fishes—like the rainbow trout he imagines keeping Chloe silent company at that too-quiet cabin—through his mind, and his eyes turned yet again to the dark screen of his phone, wanting, needing, her to light up his life the way he once lit the world.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

On the thirteenth day of Chloe’s continued absence, Trixie comes to visit again. Dan brings her by after work. They’re both shocked to see how sad and tired Lucifer looks; his eyes are dull, and there are bags beneath them, he’s still in his red satin robe and pajama bottoms, and his hair is sticking up like a black Diary Queen ice cream cone swirl. He assures them he’s fine, he just hasn’t been sleeping well.

 

“Or eating well,” Amenadiel interjects, “this morning he just picked the gummy worms off his waffles.”

 

Trixie is determined to cheer Lucifer up, she comes bearing gifts—storybooks and rainbow glazed doughnuts from the 24-hour place near the precinct that everybody loves. Trixie tells Lucifer that maybe if he asks nicely Amenadiel will read to him just like her mommy reads to her at bedtime. Lucifer scoffs at the idea and assures her that he’s quite capable of reading to himself.

 

She’s brought a big book of fairy tales to help Lucifer and Amenadiel get their stories straight. They immediately turn to Little Red Riding Hood and discover that there were “flat oat cakes and a tiny tub of butter” in her basket. This leaves them feeling even more bewildered. Surely such bland fare could not surpass the allure of even undernourished human flesh to a wolf’s taste buds! When Lucifer starts wondering if Little Red Riding Hood might have been a leper and perhaps that was what rendered her so unappetizing—her red cloak could have served the same purpose as a leper’s bell to announce her outcast status—and Amenadiel asks if a wild animal would have been capable of making that distinction, Dan quickly passes the box of doughnuts around again. Sure, it’s nice to see Lucifer suddenly so animated about something, but…

 

“Why don’t you give Lucifer the other book, honey?” he nudges Trixie.

 

The second book is a slim volume called _Tuck_ _Everlasting_ that was required reading for Trixie’s class. Lucifer dubiously examines the cover. There’s a painting of a child, shown only from the shoulders down, presumably a little girl from the 1880s based on the drop-waist mauve and white frock and high button boots. She’s holding a frog clasped rather affectionately in her hands, so this must be another of those happily-ever-after frog-kissing tales. Amenadiel will probably cry; it has the look of that sentimental dribble he likes. Nevertheless, Lucifer graciously thanks the urchin and offers her another doughnut in spite of Dan’s warning not to spoil her appetite—“It’s Hamburger Helper Thursday!”

 

“If Tuesday is dedicated to tacos and Thursday to assisting ground beef, what are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?” Lucifer asks curiously.

 

“Macaroni Monday, Rice-A-Roni Wednesday, and Fried Chicken Friday,” Dan answers.

 

 “Poor Child,” Lucifer sighs and turns sympathetically to Trixie, “your Father has scheduled all culinary surprises right out of your life. Here, have another doughnut—better yet, take the whole box!”

 

“Hey, man, there are 24 flavors of Hamburger Helper and 20 of Rice-A-Roni, and that’s _plenty_ of variety!” Dan says defensively.

 

“What about the weekend?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“We just wing it—takeout, pizza, Pasta Roni, Tuna Helper, or whatever we’re in the mood for, so my daughter gets plenty of _culinary surprises!”_

 

Lips ringed with sticky rainbow glaze, Trixie excitedly tells Lucifer that she’s going to spend the weekend with her mother at the cabin—they’re leaving right after school gets out tomorrow—and Daddy is really excited about the trout; he spent a whole hour picking out just the right grasshoppers for them.

 

Lucifer’s heart feels like it has just been flattened with a sledgehammer. He suddenly feels very…crushed. The fact that Dan is going too is like pouring a whole bag of salt on the raw blood-gushing wound that is his heart. Chloe said she needed time alone, time alone to think…and now she’s practically having a party and inviting everyone else but him? He quickly blinks away the tears when he feels the gentle, comforting pressure of Amenadiel’s hand on his shoulder. He nods up at his brother and forces a smile and listens politely and attentively as the child prattles on about the trout-filled lake and swimming, exploring the woods, and campfires, marshmallows, and s’mores, and maybe they can see the constellations.

 

“We saw Gemini once,” Trixie says, “they’re twin brothers, you have to use your imagination to see them, it’s like playing connect the dots with stars, but they look like stick figures holding hands. We learned about the constellations when we studied Greek myths in school. The King of the Gods, Zeus, put the twins in the sky so they could be together forever; because they loved each other too much to be apart.”

 

“They aren’t really twins, Child, only brothers, and Zeus had nothing to do with it, that’s just a legend.” Lucifer stands up abruptly and goes to gaze blindly out over the balcony. Amenadiel sees his fingers rise quickly to whisk away the tears before they can fall, and he fumbles with badly shaking hands to light a cigarette. He knows Lucifer is feeling abandoned again, he clearly doesn’t understand why Chloe has invited her daughter and ex-husband to spend the weekend with her. And now this talk of the Gemini, coming when he’s already hurt and reeling, has reminded him of another, much earlier, time when, broken and fallen, he felt alone and forsaken.

 

“Ptolemy, an astronomer who lived during the second century AD, identified the constellations and named them after characters from Greek myths,” Amenadiel explains, giving Lucifer time to recover.

 

While Dan is talking about rainbow trout—and the special grasshoppers he bought to feed them—Amenadiel is remembering the first time he saw the so-called Gemini, lying on a cloud with an exhausted but triumphant Lucifer snuggled beside him, his dark curls and white wings spangled with sparkling stardust. “There now,” he whispered, smiling sleepily against Amenadiel’s shoulder, “if you ever have cause to doubt my love, Brother, all you have to do is look up.” There were still faint, hazy, glittering lines of stardust hovering between the stars, so Amenadiel didn’t have to use his imagination to see the figures. Lucifer made the star drawing after the Swordmaster’s blade accidentally wounded Amenadiel’s wing. It was the only true constellation; all the others were the work of human eyes playing connect the dots with stars, like seeing shapes in the shifting clouds. The name Gemini came eons after, given by the Greek astronomer, residents of the Silver City always called it Amenifer.

 

After Trixie and Dan leave, Amenadiel tries to reassure Lucifer. There’s no need to be upset or panic, this isn’t bad news, and there’s no reason to imagine the worst or read too much into it. Chloe is first and foremost a mother, and it’s only natural that she should want to see her child, that’s what good mothers do. And look how happy and excited Trixie is! And think of Dan, the poor man is obviously still heartbroken over Charlotte! Amenadiel has seen children in the park feeding breadcrumbs to the Koi fish and it always makes them smile, so maybe a weekend spent feeding grasshoppers to the trout will help cheer Dan up. It’s also worth noting that it’s a long drive, so it would be needlessly cruel to have Dan drive Trixie out only to turn around and drive right back to L.A. or tell him to go find a motel. It’s good that such amicable relations exist between this pair of divorced parents, it’s much better for the child than the explosive rancor they habitually witnessed between their own perpetually feuding parents, and it’s nothing for Lucifer to feel threatened by or anxious about. And maybe Chloe has been thinking so much that her head hurts and she needs a little break from pondering such profound topics. It will do her good to have some fun!

 

“She could be having fun with me!” Lucifer pouts.

 

“And I’m sure she will when she’s ready,” Amenadiel says soothingly, “but for now…be patient and give her the time she needs without worrying about how she chooses to spend it. I think this weekend will be good for all of them, Brother.”

 

“But not for me!” Lucifer wails.

 

“There’s an exhibit of vintage garden gnomes and troll dolls at the Orionas Gallery, we could go and…”

 

“Goodnight, Brother!”

 

“Or the Seeds of Lily Foundation has an exhibit of 90 species of lilies. They’re giving free packets of seeds to the first 90 pe—”

 

Lucifer doesn’t even bother to answer.

 

***

 

Heartsore and sulky, Lucifer refuses to eat dinner and goes to bed with the setting sun. Amenadiel tidies up the penthouse then tunes into the Crafting Network to learn how to make cute cotton ball sheep. Both of them forget to dock the elevator before the club opens and five ladies on a mission of mercy make their way up to the penthouse. Amenadiel suddenly finds himself confronted with two sets of identical twins. Mindy and Mandy a delicious duo of strawberry blondes clad in flirty red and white candy-striper costumes puffed out with red net crinolines. They’ve brought a basket of kittens to cheer Lucifer up. And Gabriella and Isabella, a pair of sultry dark brunettes dressed as nurses in bosom-bursting skintight white uniforms with skirts cut so short he would have been able to see their panties had they been wearing any. They insist it’s their duty as nurses to give Lucifer a sponge bath. The twins are accompanied by Shandy, a tall, leggy blonde made even taller by her platform heels. She wears her long California blonde hair styled in sloppy lopsided puppy-dog-ear bunches, and keeps twirling a stethoscope and flashing open her white lab coat to reveal that she’s totally nude and tan underneath. She espouses the benefits of a daily kale enema and a diet of Mountain Dew and cheese curds, and Amenadiel doesn’t even want to know what’s inside her black leather doctor’s bag.

 

Amenadiel experiences loveless “love in an elevator” four times, thanks to the very insistent twins. They peel off his shirt and take turns rolling neon colored condoms onto his cock while the others dance and clap their hands and sing a song apparently called “Love in an Elevator.” They’re deaf—possibly because of all the out of tune singing—to all his attempts to persuade them to go back downstairs. He tells them that Lucifer isn’t feeling well and really needs to rest, and anyway he can’t abide cats, and he already took a shower so he really doesn’t need a sponge bath, he absolutely hates kale, and isn’t overly fond of Mountain Dew and cheese curds either, especially if they happen to be made from goat cheese, but it’s like they don’t even hear him.

 

While the girls giggle and groove to the muted throb of music from downstairs and their own discordant singing, Amenadiel ends up with his pants down around his ankles, still sporting the hot pink condom the lab-coated blonde rolled onto him, while trying to wrangle five playful kittens back into their basket before they find their way to Lucifer’s bedroom.

 

When the kittens are on the marble steps, Amenadiel does the only thing he can think of to avert a catastrophe and stops time.

 

Lucifer must have sensed the dream-like sluggishness in the air and he appears in the doorway just in time to catch his brother with his pants down and a calico kitten clutched in each hand.

 

Lucifer’s eyes go very wide. _“What are you doing?”_

 

“Kittens,” Amenadiel answers and awkwardly holds out his hands to show Lucifer, though he couldn’t possibly have missed them.

 

“You’re doing _kittens?”_ Lucifer can hardly believe he’s asking that question.

 

“No, Luci, not like _that!_ Some nurses brought them to cheer you up! Aw…just look at them, Luci; aren’t they cute?”

 

Lucifer recoils as though they’re spitting cobras.

 

“They most certainly are not! And that makes absolutely no sense, Brother! How could those vile, condescending, incontinent creatures cheer anyone up? Except you apparently,” he darts a meaningful glance down at the bright pink condom and his brother’s half-mast erection, “you’re still half up. Mind their claws, Brother, you may be invulnerable now that you’ve got your powers back, but latex is not.”

 

“Thank you, Luci! Helpful as always! Maybe I should let Shandy give you a kale enema!” he grumbles under his breath as he waddles over to the basket, puts the kittens in, yanks up his pants, then scoops up the remaining three kittens and bundles them all back into the elevator where the stop-motion beauties are waiting.

 

Lucifer comes to stand before the open steel doors and peers in curiously at his uninvited guests.

 

“Well…someone had more fun than a basket of kittens!” he leers down at the four neon-bright condoms littering the lift floor along with Amenadiel’s discarded t-shirt and two pairs of red lace panties. “Brother, it appears you have more stamina than I gave you credit for! _Five_ women and kittens too!”

 

“Only four women, Luci,” Amenadiel says, snatching his shirt up off the floor, “the fifth one and I didn’t…we started to, she put the condom on me, but I had to catch the kittens.”

 

“Of course you did,” Lucifer nods and pats his shoulder sympathetically.

 

He thinks about Chloe at the cabin and what will happen when Trixie and Dan arrive tomorrow. He imagines her at the lake with Daniel—she’s laughing and wearing a pink and red polka-dot bikini, watching while he feeds grasshoppers to the happy hungry trout, leaping out of the water to snatch the tasty morsels from his fingertips. He can see them all comfy-cozy snuggling by the campfire while Dan feeds her roasted marshmallows and ooey-gooey s’mores. And when they’re gazing up at Gemini she won’t know what she’s really seeing because Lucifer isn’t there to tell her. She’ll probably forget all about the stars when Dan leans in and kisses the back of her neck! She’s forgotten all about Lucifer! She doesn’t even have a thought—not _one_ bloody little thought!—to spare for the poor Devil who loves her! 

 

Lucifer’s hands clutch his scalp as though he wants to tear through the hair, flesh, and bone and rip the thoughts right out of his brain. This has to stop—NOW!—it’s driving him mad! He has to drown it out, bury it, bury it deep—NOW!

 

With a lascivious grin, Lucifer takes a step towards the ladies, letting his eyes rove eagerly over them, and then he hesitates.

 

Amenadiel sees him struggling. “Remember how you felt after Dr. Wunderbar’s visit, Brother?” he asks gently. “Did that really make you feel better?”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “no,” he softly admits.

 

“Okay,” Amenadiel nods, “so maybe you shouldn’t do that again?”

 

Lucifer nods thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’m not in the mood!” he says, quick and decisively, and heads back to his bedroom. One of the kittens makes a slo-mo leap, pouncing after Lucifer’s red satin robe, and Amenadiel quickly grabs it and puts it back in the basket with its siblings.

 

He’s about to push the elevator button when he suddenly remembers his manners. He rushes behind the bar and grabs five of the penis-shaped lollipops and tucks one into the hand of each departing guest.

 

“What are you doing now?” Lucifer asks curiously, leaning in his bedroom door.

 

“Well some of them might actually be medical professionals,” Amenadiel says. “And I believe it is customary to reward them with lollipops after they’ve rendered you a service,” he adds, jabbing the button to send the elevator back down to Lux.

 

“Brother, you haven’t been going around giving the penis lollys to every doctor and nurse you meet, have you?”

 

“Well…the doctors…yes…” Amenadiel sheepishly admits.

 

Lucifer can’t contain his laughter, it’s just _too_ funny.

 

Amenadiel quickly enters the code to dock the elevator for the night then follows Lucifer back into his bedroom. “What’s so funny about that? Lucifer, it’s only common courtesy, to show appreciation for their dedication and years of study and hard work! In the Silver City we always sent a gift to the _Noledisa_ after…”

 

“You have it backwards, Brother! Doctors are supposed to give lollipops to their patients after an examination, provided they’ve been well-behaved, of course.”

 

“Oh? Really?” Amenadiel frowns. “Well I wonder why Dr. Kaminsky didn’t give me… _Lucifer_! This isn’t funny!”

 

“Oh yes it is!”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

 

“Well you never asked me, Brother!”

 

Amenadiel sinks down, broody-faced on the bed. “I gave one to Dr. Wunderbar.”

 

“Oh, did you now?” Lucifer smirks. “What flavor?”

 

“Pickle juice!” Amenadiel says sourly.

 

“ _Nicht schokolade_?” Lucifer teases.

 

“No!”

 

“Good for you!” Lucifer pats his back. “He didn’t deserve it!”

 

“Damn right, he didn’t!” Amenadiel wholeheartedly agrees.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Her head is swimming in words and images of Heaven and Hell, angels, devils, and demons, horns, halos, and wings, fluffy white clouds, and flaming lakes. For days all Chloe Decker has done is read, from the moment she wakes until she falls asleep, immersing herself in the study of Satan. Even when she sleeps a fried-faced phantom haunts her dreams. She came to this cabin, her Dad’s “rustic heaven,” to clear her head, and now it feels overwhelmed and over-full again, and she feels just as lost as the day she left Los Angeles.

 

What does she know?

 

The barebones facts, upon which almost all these authors seems to agree, are these:

 

Originally known as Samael, Lucifer, the Bringer of Light, the Fair Star of Morning, the proud Shining One, was the brightest of all God's angels. When Lucifer incited rebellion out of his desire for Free Will, God cast his favorite son out of Heaven, to rule as the King of Hell and punish damned souls for all eternity. He hurtled from Heaven like a falling star, or a flash of lightning, to reign over his demons in a realm of brimstone and fire. Lucifer became the Devil, the embodiment of all evil, lust, godlessness, and rebellion, a torturer, merciless and devoid of all compassion, a trickster, who, with fiendish delight, entices humans to sin and leads the righteous astray, holding out his hand and tempting them with glittering promises. He often masquerades as an angel of light and is forever on the prowl like a roaring lion looking for souls to devour. He is his father’s foe, the enemy of man, the whoremaster of witches, and a temptation to sin.

 

The Devil has many names: Lucifer, Satan, Abaddon, Belial, The Enemy of God, The Adversary, Tempter, Devourer of Souls, Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies, King of Hell, Dark Prince, The Great Seducer, The Evil One, Old Scratch.

 

The most beautiful of God’s angels was transfigured into a terrifying scarlet-skinned horned and hoofed satyr with a voracious carnal appetite, a goat-like fiend with a gigantic phallus, forked tongue and tail, the leathery wings of a bat, and glowing red eyes. As hideous as he once was beautiful, he sits, clutching a pitchfork like a scepter, upon a fiery throne of skulls.

 

Chloe reads Dante’s _Inferno,_ a horrifying poetic tour guide to the nine circles of Hell— _Abandon hope, all ye who enter here_!—and encounters a Satan mired in ice. Each beat of his great wings churning up more freezing air so the ice that traps him can never thaw, a once splendid creature now as miserable and foul as he once was radiant and fair. Milton’s epic poem of Satan’s Fall, _Paradise Lost_ , depicts the Devil as a fallen hero, almost sympathetic at times, whose sole delight now is “out of good still to find means of evil.” Curiously Milton’s Satan makes the same declaration as Amenadiel quoted Lucifer as saying: _Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven!_ Is this just a coincidence or is some deception at work? Is Amenadiel actually quoting Milton, or did Milton somehow know?

 

She ponders the grotesque Hellscapes of Hieronymus Bosch and Fra Angelico, each crowded canvas a crammed catalog of suffering and misery where demons use pitchforks to herd the naked damned into Hell to be tortured and tormented. She reads of the night-flights and orgies of witches who swear allegiance to the Devil by signing their name in blood on the pages of his Black Book and kneel reverently to kiss his buttocks. The testimony of Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, who confessed before a tribunal of clergyman in 1662 that she had sex with the Devil numerous times, and even described his “ice water sperm,” only reminds Chloe that they didn’t use a condom, and how wonderful and warm Lucifer felt, and how perfectly he fit inside her. She reads tales of the mad, possessed, and depraved, the guilt-ridden and sexually repressed, tortured by their own weaknesses and desires. All have one thing in common: each and every one names the Devil as the cause of their woes, trespasses, and afflictions. _The Devil made me do it!_

 

Though Amenadiel may disagree, it is the common consensus that every story needs a villain. Chloe would also add that history is written by the victors. Where the Christian faith is concerned, clearly God wrote the books, we never hear the Devil’s side of the story. Instead, one has the sense that Lucifer sulks and suffers in proud and stubborn silence.

 

Humanity clearly needed a villain, a scapegoat to blame. _The Devil made me do it!_ became their excuse, their rallying cry, thundered from pulpits and sobbed in courtrooms, prison cells, and in the privacy of the confessional and bedrooms, obfuscating the truth that the Devil’s reason for being was to punish evil not to inspire it. He is in truth God’s ordained punisher. The Devil and his fiery realms were meant as a warning, a deterrent against evil, a portent of things to come for those who stray from the right path, not as a temptation or an invitation to sin. But that truth was lost. The legends grew larger and larger until the Devil became something like an ogre in a fairy tale, and that once most radiant of all God’s children was vilified for being the enforcer of divine justice, for simply doing his job. Kind of like how some people fear and mistrust cops and think because of a few rotten apples they are all dirty and corrupt.

 

The Devil, the evil monster that humanity made, molded from the clay of guilt and fear, casts such a giant shadow, it’s very easy to lose sight of what Chloe’s instincts tell her is the _real_ Lucifer.

 

Cast out and abandoned by his family, the only love he ever knew perverted into a sin, Lucifer began to believe that he truly must be evil, that he deserved this punishment. Made to be a torturer, he became accustomed to it, and even found some measure of satisfaction, or even pleasure, in dispensing justice and punishing the guilty. But being in Hell, attended by demons, and seeing only the worst of humanity, was not a healthy environment for such a sensitive creature, a hurt and lonely angel who used to thrive on love.

 

Amenadiel’s memories paint such a startling and vivid picture of a Lucifer she herself can only imagine. Banished to Hell, he put up walls to try and protect himself, even from the person who loved him most, the one who had even defied God for him. That act of defiance to Chloe speaks loudest of all—Lucifer was loved, and he deserved that love. But Lucifer conditioned himself to always expect the worst from everyone—to be used, hurt, abandoned, and betrayed. His forays on Earth only served to cement those expectations. Humans used Lucifer for sex, fun, and favors, they partied with him, ate his food, took his drugs, drank his wine, spent his money, and warmed his bed, then left him even more alone than they found him. None of them ever took time to care or truly get to know him. Lucifer made sex a buffer and shield against the real void and emptiness in his life. He tried to fill emptiness with more emptiness, stubbornly refusing to admit it wasn’t working. He made the mistake of using his body to try to fulfill his soul and to replace the meaningful with the meaningless.

 

All the words and pictures of the Devil in these books can’t, in Chloe’s mind, reconcile with the scared eons-old child who laid his head in her lap and let her stroke his wings. Wings that had been torn, ravaged, and wounded, their very bones peppered and cracked with machine gun bullets, in an act of agonizing blood bathed sacrifice to save her life, to make sure Trixie wouldn’t come home from school and be told she no longer had a mother. The Devil truly is also an angel. _That,_ regardless of what the Bible says, was no masquerade.

 

She bundles up the books and puts them back in the car. They can’t help her. The answers she needs aren’t written in their pages. She’ll have to look within herself to find them. Or maybe she should talk to a priest? Don’t many believers turn to them for guidance?

 

In the orange light of the setting sun, she scans the winding road, seen in flickering glimpses through the dense screen of greenery, waiting for her ex-husband and daughter to arrive. She’s missed Trixie terribly. And she knows things are difficult for Dan right now too, they’ve both lost someone, in more ways than one—Charlotte died; Pierce turned out not to be the person he pretended to be; and Lucifer’s metaphors turned out to be truths, so in a sense she lost the partner she perceived as eccentric and delusional and found the Devil in his stead. It’s been awhile since they’ve done anything beyond occasional meals and birthday parties as a family; it’ll be good for all of them to spend a weekend relaxing by the lake. And Dan has always wanted to catch a trout, maybe this time he’ll succeed.

 

***

 

It feels so good to put the soul-searching on hold, cleanse her mind of all supernatural thoughts, and just concentrate on having fun with her daughter. But the time passes far too quickly. And come Saturday night Chloe feels overcome by sadness. Trixie and Dan will be leaving around noon tomorrow to make the long drive back to Los Angeles. Trixie has school on Monday and Dan has work, and he needs to get his ten inch trout to the taxidermist. And then she’ll be alone again, wrestling with her heart and soul, haunted by that face she can't forget or stop seeing, the king who banished normalcy from her life.

 

But there are other ghosts. She’s haunted—and deeply embarrassed—by the times in the so recent past when she threw caution to the wind with Pierce and did things so out of keeping with her character that, if she didn’t know better, she would think she was on drugs. Now that she’s starting to feel more like her old self again, feet planted firmly on the ground, head out of the clouds, she’s determined not to abandon herself like that ever again. Maybe that careless, free and easy, living life by the moment, leap without looking, taking every chance that comes, risking everything on the turn of a single card approach works for some, but not her. Chloe likes being the responsible adult, and she shouldn’t let anyone, not even herself, or her mother, the party girls at Lux, or the Devil himself, make her feel bad about that. She doesn’t want to let go of herself. Being practical and methodical makes her a good detective. She loves her work, and her happiest nights are spent at home with her daughter reading a book. There are worse things to be than boring.

 

***

 

There are some old kids’ books at the cabin, and she and Trixie have a great time sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting through them. She puts some aside, like _Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret,_ _Of Nightingales That Sing,_ _The Witch of Blackbird Pond,_ and _Where The Red Fern Grows,_ for Trixie to read when she’s a little older.

 

Trixie picks up an old battered yellow paperback with a picture of a cabin, dwarfed by trees, overlooking a lake, on the cover.

 

“This is the book I gave Lucifer, only my copy has a girl holding a frog on the cover,” Trixie says.

 

“You gave this to Lucifer, babe?” Chloe asks with a feeling of commingled curiosity and dread. If Lucifer really is the Devil—not _if_ , there is no _if_ about it!—that means he really is immortal…and this story, if he bothers to read it, will surely strike a nerve.

 

Chloe can remember reading _Tuck Everlasting_ when she was Trixie’s age. She vividly recalls feeling like it was the first adult book she ever read, even though it was written for children, and she felt so proud when Miss Leighanne gave it to her. She’d never encountered a book like that before that made her stop and really think instead of just entertaining her. Even forty-four years after its original publication the book is still popular and required reading in many schools. Chloe had been so looking forward to reading it with Trixie and talking about it, reliving that experience, and wondering if it would make her daughter feel the same way, a little wiser and more grown up. But Pierce happened, and Chloe was so caught up in her own dizzy romantic whirlwind that she let that precious opportunity slip past her. Trixie read the book by herself and turned in her essay, she got an A, and though Chloe outwardly smiled, hugged her daughter and told her how proud she was of her, she gave herself an F as a mother. She stuck the paper on the fridge with a very strong magnet to remind her never to make a mistake like that again.

 

After Trixie is tucked into bed, Chloe takes the musty, dog-earred paperback to bed with her. With the Devil on her mind, she revisits the tiny rural town of Treegap in 1880.

 

Walking in the woods one day, ten-year-old Winnie Foster encounters a cute teenage boy named Jesse Tuck drinking from a freshwater spring at the foot of a tree. He refuses to let her drink. As the story unfolds, she learns the reason why. Eighty-seven years ago, the Tuck family paused on their journey from the east and drank innocently from that spring. They became frozen in time, immune to death, never ill or aging another day, while the wheel of life—that never-ending circle of births and deaths—went on turning round and round without them. Jesse’s brother, Miles, married and watched his wife grow old while he remained eternally twenty-two. She left him, and took the children with her—children who would be in their eighties by now—and accused him of having sold his soul to the Devil.

 

_Lucifer won’t like that!_ Chloe thinks.

 

To keep their secret, the Tucks keep moving, rarely settling in one place for long, never letting any outsiders get close to them. All they have is each other. What a lonely life that must be! Falsely accused of kidnapping Winnie, they are pursued by the Man in the Yellow Suit. Ever since he discovered the truth about their immortal lives via a connection to Miles’ family, he’s been hunting them. He wants to sell the Fountain of Youth in a bottle, but first he has to find the spring. When Mrs. Tuck accidentally kills him, she is arrested and sentenced to hang. To avoid their secret being revealed on the scaffold, a jailbreak is necessary. Before the Tucks take their leave, slipping out of town under cover of darkness, Jesse gives Winnie a bottle of the spring water and asks her to drink it when she turns seventeen, then they can be together—always.

 

Many years pass, and when the Tucks pass through Treegap again in 1950, they find it greatly changed. The woods are gone, burned down in an electrical storm, and in the cemetery stands a stone for Winifred Foster Jackson, beloved wife and mother. She completed life’s circle, lived to a ripe old age, and then, in the natural order of things, died. “Good girl!” Mr. Tuck whispers with tears in his eyes. On the way out of town, they almost run over a toad. “Durn fool thing must think it’s going to live forever,” Mr. Tuck says, never knowing that Winnie poured the bottle of water Jesse gave her on it long ago after “her toad” was threatened by a dog, to keep it safe—forever.

 

Chloe finishes the book with tears in her eyes. She’s always loved that bittersweet ending, and never had a doubt that she would have made the same decision as Winnie. But how lonely an immortal existence must be! Poor Lucifer! If he lets himself become attached to a human, he’s doomed to lose them as life’s wheel keeps turning while he stands still at the roadside, like someone watching a hearse pass by with a dear friend inside. If he falls in love, his heart will be broken every time. Human beings grow old, sicken, and die; every mortal body wears out eventually. And, for Lucifer, the cycle of abandonment continues, like a curse. It isn’t fair! The Devil should have a companion, a mate! He should not be condemned to eternal loneliness! Chloe thinks that the Devil is the most damned soul of all!

 

At least he has his brother; Amenadiel _will_ love him forever, if Lucifer will only let him. Dan had her almost rolling on the floor with laughter when he told her about walking in on them in bed together, their hopelessly muddled discussion about fairy tales, and their analysis of Little Red Riding Hood. _Mental illness and mushrooms!_ It’s frickin’ hilarious! Chloe hopes this means they’re well on the road to reconciliation. More than once, she’s wondered if Lucifer has allowed his brother to groom his wings yet. She hopes he has. Her every instinct shouts out that this is something they both need. The bond between them needs to be re-consecrated.

 

In between wading through the morass of literature about the Devil, she’s also read about angels. Somehow she thought the subject would be pure and simple, but she couldn’t have been more mistaken. Each book contradicted the other. One book described angels as sexless beings, meaning without gender or genitals, and had paintings that showed them smooth as Barbie and Ken dolls between their legs. Another book said angels were described as “sexless” because they didn’t have sex owing to the fact that they were all siblings, and that demons were actually fallen angels cast into Hell for indulging in incestuous relations.

 

The third book Chloe read—which was a _really_ _weird_ book!—was written by a 90 year old former priest, who left the priesthood on his 60th birthday to join a British punk rock band. The former Father Nutley Palmer wrote about divine and sacred incest emulated on Earth by Ancient Egyptian royalty. He described the process of angelic courtship as a rather simple and straightforward one in which gender plays no part; divine same-sex pairings are as common as ones between opposite sexes. One angel declares their desire for another by giving the gift of a silver currycomb; if the desired one gives a silver currycomb in return they are mated for life, just like swans, and all Heaven rejoices for them, and they set up housekeeping together on a cloud overlooking the Lake of Silver—Heaven’s pure and wholesome answer to Hell’s Lake of Fire. He also included several crude line drawings that he described as _The_ _Kama Sutra_ _of Angels,_ illustrating how they achieved Celestial Orgasm in the Rooster and Hen Position with their wings outspread and overlapping, or else by standing on their heads with their wings touching in the Standing Starfish Position. Chloe takes it all with a grain, or even a whole shaker, of salt.

 

As human as Lucifer and Amenadiel appear, _appear_ is the key word here; they aren’t human, they’re angels. All species have their own unique habits and behaviors, just like different nationalities have their own traditions and customs. Preening is how angels express their love for each other. They form bonds and build trust as they care for each other’s wings. Chloe thinks that’s beautiful. And these are all things that Lucifer needs. Yeah, the fact that they do it naked is a little jarring, but for them it’s comforting and familiar, and innocent…they were born, and lived several millennia, before clothes ever existed, and it’s a sacred expression of their bond, symbolic of being “flesh and feathers.” Although Chloe has only the vaguest memories of that little green bird preening its feathers, she knows it would have been miserable if her six year old self had forbidden it to do that—if such a thing were even possible—because she wanted to brush and comb it herself. A human can’t understand a bird’s feathers the way another bird can, and she’s sensible enough to know the same surely applies to angel wings. Regardless of what happens between her and Lucifer, he needs to be with his own kind too. That’s important. She can’t pretend he’s human, even if she treats him just like she would any man, that won’t make him human. He needs to be true to his nature.

 

But his nature has so many facets…sometimes it seems as blinding and bewildering as an intricately cut diamond. And every time she sees that face…all the facts she knows, and every feeling she has, go scattering like bowling pins, the rug is yanked from beneath her feet, and she falls again.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The dreams are getting worse. Lucifer writhes, whimpers, and weeps through every night, or bolts awake in a sweat-soaked panic, sobbing and shaking, struggling for breath. He lies huddled on his side, wrapped in his own wings, and clutches Chloe’s shirt, soaking it with his tears, after his dreams show him a Chloe broken by the sight of the Devil’s face, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a rubber-padded room, wearing a straitjacket and hospital gown, stringy-haired, drooling, gibbering and screeching about the Devil, and banging her head against the wall, lost to everyone who loves her, and unable to recognize even her own child.

 

“It’s all right, Luci, everything’s okay, it was just a very bad dream,” Amenadiel repeatedly reassures him, stroking Lucifer’s back above his trembling wings. “Chloe is fine! If she was going to fall apart it would have happened right after she saw your Devil Face, and she wouldn’t have come here to be with you. This was just another bad dream!”

 

In the end, to pacify Lucifer, Amenadiel has to call Dan and ask him if Chloe is in a mental hospital. Once Lucifer hears Dan’s voice on speaker phone—“ _What?_ _No!_ Man…What the hell? Do you know what time it is? It’s 3:35 in the morning! No, Chloe’s not in a psych ward, she’s at the cabin! Why would you even ask that?”—he feels greatly relieved and curls up beside his brother and goes back to sleep.

 

Every night Lucifer issues the same warning for Amenadiel to “stay on your side of the bed, and don’t try to hug me with your wings, or I’ll throw you off the balcony.”  But it’s Lucifer who always breaks the rules. He snuggles close and reaches out, seeking a long-lost comfort in the dark that he can’t admit in the light of day.

 

This, the comfort and warmth of familiar skin, is what Lucifer has never been able to understand that naked strangers can never give him no matter how many he sleeps with. He never let any of them get near enough to no longer be strangers…until he met Chloe Decker.

 

Lucifer moans, twists, and murmurs in his sleep. By his words, Amenadiel can tell the time and place he’s visiting in his dreams.

 

***

 

The year is 1859; the place is Georgia, a stately white pillared plantation house surrounded by magnolia and dogwood trees. Amenadiel has been sent to see Lucifer safely back to Hell; he’s tarried too long on Earth again. He finds Lucifer on the veranda, wearing a white linen suit, sipping a mint julep, and surrounded by southern belles, their hoop skirts swaying, and their laughter tinkling, like bells.

 

On such occasions, Amenadiel always stops time so he can speak privately with his brother. But this time something happens that has never happened before, and will not happen again for more than a century—his power fails. He’s telling Lucifer it’s time to go when Time resumes its natural flow again.

 

Suddenly Amenadiel feels the lash of a whip. It doesn’t break his skin, but it delivers a startling and powerful sting. He whirls around to see a scowling man with crooked tobacco-stained teeth and mutton-chop whiskers. The man uses strange and, by his tone, insulting words like “boy” and “darky,” and is apparently chiding him for daring to address a white man in such an insolent manner. He speaks with such a pronounced drawl it’s hard to understand but that seems to be the gist of it. He uses more, even uglier, words, all apparently bearing some relation to the color of Amenadiel’s skin. He raises his arm and starts to wield the whip again but Lucifer catches the end, wraps it round his fist, and drags this crude, rude fellow across the ground and up onto the veranda.

 

The southern belles scream and scatter, hoops jostling, revealing more than a coy, flirtatious glimpse of ruffled pantalettes, as they seek the safety of the house.

 

Lucifer yanks the loud-mouthed oaf up by his shirtfront.

 

“What are you talking about?” he demands. “My brother’s skin is beautiful!”

 

The man starts to disagree, but Lucifer shows him a sight that will forever haunt his dreams.

 

“If you _ever_ harm or insult anyone again because of the color of their skin, I will come for you,” he says, every word deathly serious. “Now, I think you should apologize.”

 

Knees knocking, tears streaming down his face, and urine down his thighs, making dark stains blossom on his dusty blue trousers, the man stammers out an apology that Amenadiel accepts with a gracious nod.

 

Lucifer puts on his black-banded straw Panama hat and steps down from the veranda. He doesn’t ask to linger or to be allowed to say his farewells, or even to finish his drink.

 

“Shall we go, Brother?” He links his arm through Amenadiel’s. “I just decided I prefer Hell to Georgia.”

 

***

 

Amenadiel has woken several times to find one of Lucifer’s wings draped across his body. Sometimes he even finds drops of preening oil spattering his skin, which tells him that Lucifer’s wings both want and need to be groomed. But they never speak of it. It’s the new baby elephant in the room. Or is it an ancient elephant? It could be argued that Lucifer is reverting to what was his natural before the Fall behavior. Lucifer has never been a casual cuddler, and in his sleep he sometimes whispers _Esiasch_ _tablior_ while he snuggles against Amenadiel. The word _tablior_ in the Tongue of Angels is an endearment that means “the one who always comforts me,” but when prefaced with a name or title it becomes clear that it means a particular person. And, sometimes, as Lucifer tosses in his sleep, the word _janemilis_ , lavender, bobs on the crest of a longing sigh like purple blossoms wafting on waves.

 

***

 

The much awaited text message has come at last:

 

_I’m sorry, Lucifer, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’ve thought about it a lot, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together_. _I just want a normal life_. _I don’t want to be the Devil’s girlfriend, it’s just not me_. _Anyway_ _Dan and I decided we’re going to try again to make our marriage work so we can be a family again.  I think that’s best for all of us._ _Dan says to tell you he caught a 22lb trout and Trixie says Hi. So I guess I’ll see you later…Bye!_

 

Drenched in sweat, Lucifer bolts awake and grapples with his phone; it slides from his sweat-slippery hands three times, shooting up into the air like a leaping trout and diving back down into the all black bedclothes, sending him into a panting panic as he scrambles for it. Several tense moments pass before he’s finally able to find it and determine that it isn’t real. It was just another dream. There are no messages from Chloe, just a pecker pic from a guy in full clown makeup and a text from someone named Shandy asking him to bail her out of jail for shoplifting Snickers bars at Walgreens— _I don’t know what came over me I guess maybe it was all that kale and Mt Dew and cheese curds or maybe the devil made me do it but I just saw that display of candy bars by the checkout counter and I went CRAZY and started ripping them open and stuffing them in my mouth and I only had $1 in my purse_.

 

“Luci?” Amenadiel sits up and touches his shoulder.

 

Lucifer hands Amenadiel his phone. “I thought there was a message from Chloe.”

 

Amenadiel takes one look at his brother’s messages and says “let’s just be _very_ glad that neither of these texts is from Chloe.” He firmly hits delete and puts Lucifer’s phone down beside his on the nightstand.

 

There’s a lump in his throat and tears overflowing his eyes so Lucifer just nods and lies back down, rolling tightly onto his side. His hand slips under the pillow to touch Chloe’s shirt while Amenadiel’s fingers stroke the tight muscles of his back, helping to lull Lucifer back to sleep.

 

And then the dreams start again, just like a Hell Loop, varying but never ending.

 

This time it’s the crash and burn he’s been reliving for millennia.

 

_Ni dobix,_ _vemasi pim!_ (I am falling, catch me!) Lucifer instinctively cries out, for the very first time in terror instead of passion. His clipped and useless wings unfurl and flap and flutter futilely, trying to slow the relentless downward spiral. But this isn’t the Act of Love, and Amenadiel isn’t there, no one is there, to catch him because to fall is his punishment. This has nothing to do with love, there isn’t any love anymore, it’s all gone, and he’s falling, _really_ falling, hurtling further and further away from Heaven, cast out of the only home he’s ever known. Everyone hates him! They think he’s evil! They’re happy he’s gone! They’re probably celebrating! He can imagine Amenadiel raising his goblet and offering the first toast, proving where his loyalties truly lie.

 

Lucifer plunges through a blazing ring of fire and what little is left of his hair ignites. He lands bone-breaking hard in a burning crater of embers and ashes. His vertebra rattle and jar like thrown dice, bones break and stab and slice through skin, and blood seeps and gushes out. Agony is all he knows and blindness descends. Everything goes red and then black. If he could scream it would be his brother’s name. As consciousness wavers and dims, but never truly departs, he tells himself it’s only natural that he should want the person who has always taken care of him; the betrayal is still too bewilderingly fresh and new. Hate is a new habit he hasn’t mastered yet, but he vows he will. Tears simmer on his face and in the wells of his eyes. He lies there, gasping like a dying fish, with the breath knocked from his scorched lungs, his nose full of the gagging stench of burning hair, flesh, and sizzling blood. And then he feels his bones begin to knit, and the wounds closing, making everything—all except his soul—whole.

 

Through a red haze, demon faces appear, ringing the crater, staring down at him curiously.

 

Lucifer rises from the ashes, like a furious phoenix in full glory. Black curls corkscrew from his scalp to caress his shoulders and his wings unfurl, glowing and gloriously white against his slender, golden tan nakedness. He is both beautiful and fearsome to behold.

 

_This_ is what the demons see and it takes their breath away. Some of them reach out awed and trembling hands to touch him; they’ve never seen anything so beautiful, so radiant and divine that it brings tears to their eyes.

 

“Get back, I am your king!” the magnificent vision snarls.

 

The demons fall on their knees and bow their foreheads to the ground, worshiping Lucifer like a gilded idol.

 

“Well? Am I to stand in this pit of ashes for all eternity?” Lucifer haughtily demands, angry fists curled against slim ash-streaked hips, phallus bobbing proudly. “Has a chamber been prepared for me?”

 

“Majesty, this way…” one of the senior demons leaps up. “If it pleases Your Majesty, I, Abraxas, shall serve you as your valet,” he says, and walking a few steps ahead of Lucifer, backwards, bowing all the way, escorts him to the royal suite.

 

“Bring me food and drink!” Lucifer commands and Abraxas scurries away like a sycophantic beetle.

 

A large oval silver mirror wreathed in rubies graces one pitted black stone wall. Lucifer goes straight to it. He touches his face just to be sure that what he’s seeing is real. All his beauty has been burned away. A monster glares back at him from out of the silvery depths of the gazing glass. Though he still feels the phantom caress of curls brushing his shoulders, his scalp is barren, flesh burned and blistered away, revealing ugly, scarred fibrous tissue, charred veins, and blood-caked blisters and fissures. It’s the same with his face. His whole body, even his cock, is a splendid scarlet mess of flayed and burnt away skin, sticky congealed blood, and ugly, rough blisters, a map made of visible tendons, muscles, and veins charting this newfound realm of ugliness. _No one will ever love me again!_ he thinks as his hands trail down from his cheeks to his chest, tracing torso to thighs.

 

Only his wings, the Lightbringer’s glowing, holy pure white glory, remain divinely beautiful and unscathed, mockingly pulsing and thrumming with a love he now hates and desperately wants to forget. The throbbing reminds him of the way he once heard a human describe a toothache—a dull, constant, ever-present ache, punctuated by sharp, vivid suddenly blossoming bursts of the most excruciating pain whenever she bit down on the sweet honey cakes she still craved even though they only brought her more—and more intense—pain, a pain that echoed until it finally faded back to that always present, persistent ache. “It never leaves me alone,” she said, “it’s always with me—the pain. One day I’ll find the courage and have the tooth-drawer cut it out.” The tooth had broken so close to the gum-line it could no longer be pulled in the normal manner. His feathers fluff and, despite the heat of Hell, Lucifer shivers as the tender skin beneath his feathers feels a lovely little frisson. The sensation spreads up to the nape of his neck. If he didn’t know better, Lucifer would think his brother is thinking of him. In spite of what his wings say, Lucifer tells himself the love was never real; it couldn’t have been or it wouldn’t have ended like this.

 

A monster now, evil incarnate, is all Lucifer sees when he looks at himself. A twisted, ugly, angry soul, capable of any sin or vice no matter how corrupt and heinous, evil sent to punish evil.

 

“Majesty?” The demon valet respectfully presents a silver tray laden with black bread and blood red wine.

 

Black bread! Prison fare! _How dare they?_

 

Lucifer raises his wing and brings it crashing down upon the tray, his sharp flight feathers slashing the servant open from brow to breast.

 

“NEVER bring me black bread again if you value your miserable toadying life!”

 

Despite his bleeding wounds, the demon drops to his knees, groveling and gazing up at Lucifer with unabashed adoration.

 

“Please, Master, oh Most Fearsome Majesty, _please,_ may I lick the blood from your beautiful wings?” he begs, one tremulous creeping hand presumptuously inching towards Lucifer’s feathers.

 

Lucifer slams his foot down, crushing every bone in that brazen hand to powder.

 

“NO ONE TOUCHES MY WINGS! NEVER AGAIN!” Lucifer bellows, so loud it shakes the very foundations of Hell and makes ashes and flakes and slivers of stone rain down from the ceiling.

 

His own screams wake Lucifer up. He kicks away the covers and sees the Devil’s raw red skin. He leaps from the bed and rushes into the bathroom.

 

Amenadiel finds him standing before the mirror. Tears sizzle against Lucifer’s blistered cheeks and through the livid mass of scar tissue his heart beats a frantic, fast, frightened rhythm, while his lungs struggle to slow down and savor the air they need.

 

“The face of a nightmare,” Lucifer says, staring at his worst reflected self.

 

“The mask of pain,” Amenadiel says, regarding the same face.

 

_Ni dobix_ , _vemasi pim!_ Those were the words Lucifer screamed when he felt the fear of falling. Even though the context is completely different, and no reply since time began has likely ever been given so belatedly, Amenadiel decides to answer him.

 

When the ecstatic rush of fearlessly falling comes, accompanied by that urgent cry, during the Act of Love, the reply is a wordless one that says more than words could ever convey. Embracing from behind, one arm enfolds the waist, palm resting flat, firm and steadfast, against the abdomen, while the palm of the other hand covers the heart, feeling every racing beat. And the wings of both _nasola_ and _nasoli,_ the grooming one and the groomed one, meet as their bodies press together back to breast, and the flight feathers mesh, shuddering and intense. They hold and wait for it to slacken, washed over by waves of divine rapture. When calmness again reigns, the preening continues, until it’s finished, no matter how many times they fall and catch, and both sets of wings have been groomed, only then do they collapse, languid and limp, to sleep in blissful tranquility.

 

Neither of them has their wings out, and this is the aftermath of a nightmare, coming from the depths of pain, not the joyous pinnacle, so Amenadiel answers only with his hands and heart.

 

Lucifer gasps and stiffens in surprise. But, after a moment, he surrenders and melts gratefully, leaning back into his brother’s embrace. He’s too tired to be stubborn, too tired to fight it; he just wants to sleep in peace the way he used to so many eons ago.

 

“What was I thinking?” Lucifer murmurs tiredly. “Once seen, this face can never be forgotten, it will haunt her forever. It’s a face no one could love.”

 

Amenadiel gently turns him around, away from the mirror.

 

“You’re wrong, Brother, anyone who truly loves you will love you no matter what face you wear. And this is not your true face,” his palm caresses the rough red cheek feeling it shift back to tan smoothness and prickly black stubble beneath his touch, “only a mask made of pain that a wounded soul wears. Come back to bed, you’re tired, I can tell,” he leads him gently into the bedroom.

 

“It’s no use,” Lucifer sighs even as his weary body slips back between the silken sheets, “I’ll just dream again!” He pounds his pillow in frustration, perilously close to weeping. “ _Please,_ just this _one_ night, let me sleep without dreaming! _I’m so tired!”_

 

“Luci, you have to know, hurt and angry as you are, that I would have caught you if I could; if it had been up to me, I would never have let you fall. I wanted to be there for you, to comfort you and comb the ashes from your wings. I would never have left you alone in that place if I had a choice. I knew what it would do to you, and everything I feared came true—I lost you, in more ways than one. When I was finally allowed to see you again, you were so angry and bitter; I couldn’t touch you, not even your heart with my words. You wouldn’t let me show you love the way we did in Heaven, you wouldn’t even talk to me. I tried everything I could think of to get through to you…”

 

The back Lucifer presents to Amenadiel is tense and unyielding.

 

“You stopped visiting me! You abandoned me! You left me alone!”

 

“Only because I didn’t know what else to do! Luci, I was hurting too! I wanted my brother back, I missed you so much, Luci, in all that time we were apart, an hour never passed that I did not think of you. But nothing I said or did seemed to make any difference, all you ever did was ignore me, and my heart couldn’t bear it anymore, so I stopped coming. I didn’t think it would matter to you, I didn’t think you cared. You never gave the slightest sign that you wanted me there, and everything you did suggested that you didn’t. Luci,” Amenadiel reaches out and rests his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, “tell me, please, what should I have done that I didn’t do?”

 

“I don't know,” Lucifer answers softly, trying but failing to keep his voice from trembling, and turns his face into the pillow to let it soak up his tears, “I don’t know!”

 

“Maybe you don’t miss me, but I still miss you.”

 

With a heart-heavy sigh, Amenadiel reaches to turn out the light. His hand brushes against the big green and gold book of fairy tales that Trixie brought them and a light almost as bright as his brother’s wings illuminates his mind.

 

He leaves the light on and reaches for Lucifer.

 

“Brother, what are you doing?” Lucifer asks irritably yet doesn’t resist being the little spoon.

 

“Something I haven’t tried before. I want to tell you a story. Maybe it will help you sleep.”

 

“By all means, Brother, bore me into a sleep so deep the nightmares can’t reach me!”

 

“Once upon a time there were two brothers…” Amenadiel begins.

 

It’s very much the same story he told Chloe, but he keeps it simple and frames it like a fairy tale, cannily substituting Firstborn and Lastborn for their names, King for God, Kingdom for the Silver City, and Underworld for Hell. He’s hoping this will give ancient history a fresher feel and help Lucifer to focus on the story itself instead of age-old hurts and grievances.

 

And, incredibly, Lucifer listens, without protesting or interrupting. He lays quite still, his body alternately tensing and relaxing as the story unfolds.

 

When he’s finished, Amenadiel turns off the light, because people will often say things in the dark they won’t otherwise, then settles back down beside Lucifer and asks softly, “Do you think the Firstborn still loves the Lastborn?”

 

“Possibly,” Lucifer grudgingly admits.

 

“And do you think the Lastborn still loves the Firstborn?”

 

“Maybe…I’m too tired to think about it now! Fairy tales are just like Swiss cheese, Brother, they’re full of holes!”

 

“Just rest, we can talk about it later, there’s no need to analyze it now…” Amenadiel says and starts to withdraw his arm from where it still lies draped across Lucifer’s waist. But the hand that descends lightly over his stops its retreat and the well of hope in Amenadiel’s heart is replenished once more.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Lucifer’s dark head tosses fitfully against the black silk pillowcase and his eyes twitch behind their tightly clenched lids.

 

In the land of dreams, Lucifer is smiling with secret delight. He’s standing stark naked before a wire frame supporting a pair of pathetic dingy white wings that look like they’re made out of feathers harvested from a sick chicken, and holding an enormous straw basket overflowing with a bountiful array of fruit and flowers while trying his hardest not to laugh or shiver. _If you only knew_ …he’s thinking, mischievously considering whether he should unfurl his own magnificent wings and flood this dismal garret with divine light.

 

“Hold still!” an impatient voice chides.

 

Eons spent in Hell have left Lucifer even more sensitive to the cold than most angels are, and the artist’s studio is poorly heated. But he refuses to do anything about it no matter how much his models complain; when he has money he’d rather spend it on paint, and vermillion, saffron, and lapis, to create the divine ultramarine or heavenly blue, are not cheap.

 

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, the surly brute with the shaggy, unkempt black hair and moustache, standing behind the canvas thoughtfully daubing and caressing Lucifer’s painted nakedness with a fine, silky-tipped brush, thinks it’s hilarious that he has a model named Lucifer posing as an angel. Though given what a prolific painter he is of religious subjects surely he must know that the Prince of Darkness began as the Angel of Light, so it’s a joke that falls somewhat flat in Lucifer’s opinion. When they met, during a sudden, violent rainstorm, during which they had sudden, violent sex in a dark alley, Caravaggio, who had just come within a hairsbreadth of murdering a waiter for putting the wrong dressing on a platter of artichokes, grunt-whispered as he thrust into Lucifer “you have the curls of a cherub, the face and body of an angel, and the temperament of a devil; I’ve never felt so close to the divine before, I _must_ paint you!”

 

In the whirlwind weeks that followed, Caravaggio painted Lucifer’s “devilishly divine angelic beauty” sprawled wantonly naked across his rumpled bed—omitting the unsightly stains on the worn and frayed sheets of course—with those pathetic, wilted wings strapped to his back; Lucifer rising, temptation personified, from the same disheveled bed, one leg kneeling on the mattress while he stretched his arms above his head and the wings behind his back, lasciviously waking with lust still on his mind; as a gloriously nude flirty-eyed Bacchus, sans wings of course since this is a joyously erotic pagan picture, crowned with fruit and flowers and sipping wine from a golden goblet while one leg dangles over the gilded ram’s head arm of his throne; and now, with wings again, as the fruit and flower laden Angel of Plenty.

 

The door opens and time stops.

 

“Oh it’s _you!”_ Lucifer groans and immediately starts laughing. _“What are you wearing?”_

 

“In Paris they said it was the latest fashion.” Amenadiel stands frowning before him in a pair of knee-length green brocade breeches, absurdly puffed, padded, and ridged like a great pumpkin, and a matching doublet, and round, feathered cap, all festooned with pearls, gold braid, and tassels. His collar gives the illusion that his head is sitting decapitated on a fluted white platter edged with gilded point lace, his tan silk stockings are embroidered with lattices of climbing green ivy, and there are big shiny green satin bows punctuated by pearls and gold tassels on the toes of his shoes, and he totters a tad unsteadily on the high, chunky gold and green striped heels.

 

Lucifer can’t stop laughing, but Amenadiel just glares at him.

 

“Naked again, Luci. Why aren’t I surprised? It seems like I have to tell you to put your clothes on every time I see you these days.”

 

“Well if _that_ is the latest fashion, Brother, better to be naked! I’m not sure if even _I_ could make _that_ work! _Please,_ take it off, I can’t bear it! If I were mortal, I would already have died of laughter!”

 

“Get your clothes on and let’s go.”

 

“I can’t! I’m posing for Caravaggio, Brother! You’ll be committing a crime against art if you make me leave now!”

 

 “Depriving the world of another nude portrait of you isn’t going to be the death of art, Luci, it won’t even be the equivalent of a stubbed toe. Every time I come to Italy it’s almost like being in the Silver City before robes again, I see so much of your nakedness. Paintings of you everywhere—in humble homes and palaces, hanging in taverns, even in the Vatican! Shopkeepers and peddlers are always accosting me in the street, trying to sell me goods with your likeness on them! Do I really look like a man who would want to buy a deck of playing cards covered in naked pictures of my own brother? Or a trinket box, a serving tray, or a fan? And then there’s you, you’re always naked in some artist’s bed or studio! Personally, I think you’re overexposed, Brother!” Amenadiel moves to look over Caravaggio’s shoulder. “He’s practically finished; he can manage the rest without you. He’s already painted you three times, and he has more than a passing familiarity with your body, particularly the part he’s working on now. So get your clothes on and say your farewells, if you need help with your laces, I’ll be waiting just outside the door.”

 

Time begins to move again as suddenly as it stopped.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Caravaggio demands, jabbing a paintbrush like a dagger at Amenadiel’s chest. “What are you doing in my room? And why are you dressed like that? Are you the Duke of Benavente’s new jester? Am I commissioned to paint you?”

 

“No, I’ve come to take my brother home,” Amenadiel says sourly, jerking his head towards Lucifer.

 

“Back to Hell you mean!” Lucifer shouts and hurls the basket he’s still holding across the room. It strikes Amenadiel’s chest, scattering fruit and flowers everywhere.

 

“Thank you, Luci, I adore fruit baskets.”

 

“It’s wax fruit, you egotistical twit!”

 

“Well…it’s the thought that counts.”

 

“If you want to know what I think…” Lucifer takes an angry step forward.

 

But Amenadiel stands his ground. _“I_ think you had better get your clothes on _now_ and come with me, unless you want to deal with Father!”

 

A snort of laughter interrupts them.

 

“Your _brother?_ A likely story!” Caravaggio scoffs. “But it makes no difference to me! Either kiss him or kill him; I don’t care! Just get him out of here, I’m done with him, and have no desire to be caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. So just take your catamite and go, to Hell or wherever you please, and leave me to paint in peace!”

 

Lucifer flinches, surprised at being so carelessly and cruelly dismissed. And in front of his brother too! A brother who has just been mistaken for his lover! How the humiliation smarts! Caravaggio didn’t even say thank you—for _anything!_ When Amenadiel gets back to the Silver City and tells this story _everyone_ will laugh at the human artist snubbing Lucifer and treating him with the same cheap and casual contempt as he would a common harlot. They’ll laugh and say he got just what he deserved! Amenadiel will probably laugh the longest and loudest!

 

“He’s not my lover! He really is my brother, and he doesn’t love me at all!” Lucifer hotly declares, tossing his curls and shoving the wire-framed wings aside. He begins gathering up the black and red garments scattered on the floor beside the messy bed, but he drops them abruptly when Amenadiel suddenly jerks him upright and deals his cheek a hard, stinging slap.

 

Lucifer gasps and jerks away, clutching his cheek, too stunned to react.

 

Without a word, Amenadiel turns and walks out, pearls clacking and tassels bouncing with every angry heel-tapping step.

 

There’s a dry chuckle followed by the sound of a coin reverberating against the scarred paint-stained wooden floor where Caravaggio has just tossed it at Lucifer’s bare feet—payment for services rendered.

 

“Are you sure about that, little whore? Are you sure your _brother_ doesn’t love you?”

 

Lucifer just stands and stares down at that coin in wide-eyed, shivering horror. _Is this all I am to you?_ _Is this what I have fallen to?_

 

As quickly as he can, Lucifer pulls on his clothes—a chicly simple black velvet doublet slashed with scarlet satin, black linen shirt, silk hose, and short black velvet breeches, padded after the fashion of the day but subtly, unlike Amenadiel’s absurd pumpkin pants. The clothes of the era are complicated, everything is made in pieces, to mix and match for greater variety, and fastens with tabs, ties, points, and laces—that’s why everyone who can afford to has a valet or maid—but he manages. He’d walk through the fish market stark naked before he’d ask Caravaggio for help! He hops about on one foot as he pulls each high black leather boot up over his silk-clad knees and quickly tosses back his curls and jams a round black velvet cap with a rakish red feather down over them. Without a word or backward glance to Caravaggio, he slams out the door, hurrying after his brother. He leaves the grubby coin lying on the floor with the pope’s profile frowning up at the patched, soot-stained ceiling.

 

As soon as Lucifer appears, Amenadiel starts walking. He’s not in the mood for further argument or conversation.

 

They’re in the midst of the fish market when Lucifer stops. “I want to stay here!” he announces. “I’m a very popular model, and every painter of note in Rome, Florence, Venice, and Naples has been my lover,” he boasts with a proud lift of his chin.

 

Amenadiel stops and slowly turns around and retraces his steps until he’s standing face to face with Lucifer.

 

“And how many of these lovers actually love you, Luci?” He lets the question hover unanswered in the air between them, and then he turns and starts walking again. After a few steps, he pauses long enough to call back “When you finish counting, let me know, Luci, I’m _really_ curious to hear that number! If you run short of noteworthy painters, feel free to include the mediocre ones and housepainters too… _if_ any of them love you.”

 

Something soft and squishy strikes the back of Amenadiel’s head and sends his cap flying. He glances down at the ground. There’s a dead dull-eyed squid lying on the cobblestones, its tentacles embracing his green brocade hat like a kraken about to pull a ship down to the depths. Before he can react, Lucifer’s hand is on his shoulder and a Spotted Grouper slams into his face so hard it knocks his jaw from its socket.

 

With a roar of furious pain, Amenadiel maneuvers his jaw back into the socket and whirls around and seizes hold of Lucifer. Scattering fish sellers and shoppers, he slams Lucifer face down on a table covered with the ocean’s bounty. Lucifer’s thrashing sends fish, shrimp, squid, crabs, oysters, and eels flying everywhere to the delight of the market’s more light-fingered patrons. Pinning him firmly, Amenadiel yanks those elegant black breeches down and the full force of his palm descends upon Lucifer’s bare bottom. Lucifer squirms and screams like a cat on fire, but Amenadiel doesn’t falter. This continues until Lucifer’s throat is raw and Amenadiel feels like his arm is about to fall off.

 

When Lucifer lies still and sniffling amongst the fishes, Amenadiel lets go of him and pats his back. “All right, pull your pants up and let’s go home, I think you’ve learned your lesson, little brother.”

 

The words are barely out of Amenadiel’s mouth before Lucifer slaps him across the face with an eel and rams his knee into his green brocade groin. While he’s still reeling and seeing stars, Lucifer leaps up, nimbly wrapping his legs around Amenadiel’s waist, and his arms strangle-tight around his neck, and bites his brother’s earlobe off. He jumps free, and, with a defiant toss of his head, swallows it while Amenadiel howls in pain and clutches his bleeding ear.

 

From over their heads comes the sound of mocking laughter.

 

Looking from a window above, Caravaggio calls down, “you love each other so much you hate each other! Come back upstairs; you can both pose for me! I’ll paint you as the Devil _in flagrante_ with his catamite!”

 

Lucifer flings the eel at Caravaggio’s forehead. It strikes with a loud wet smack, and the artist staggers back from the window cursing and clutching his brow.

 

All of a sudden everyone is shouting and talking at once, especially the fish sellers whose wares have suffered greatly from this brotherly brawl. The fish are being trampled underfoot, people are slipping and falling on their slimy carcasses, thieves are running away with the shellfish, and fights are erupting all around.

 

Amenadiel and Lucifer suddenly find themselves united in the common goal of escaping an angry mob.

 

“ENOUGH!” Amenadiel shouts and time slows to a sluggish crawl.

 

He’s nearly knocked off his feet when Lucifer jumps into his arms.

 

“Fine! Have it your way! Take me back to Hell!”

 

Amenadiel drops him like a hot coal and Lucifer lands sprawling on the cobblestones, his aching ass cushioned by dead fish.

 

“It’s my job to escort you, not to carry you! You have wings; fly your own damn self back to Hell! Or stay on Earth if you think it’s better to be Caravaggio’s, or some other artist’s, whore than the King of Hell! I don’t care! Father can deal with you from now on, Luci, I’m done!”

 

With that he whips out his wings and takes flight without looking back to see whether Lucifer is following or not. The next thing he knows Lucifer’s wingtip nearly takes off his head, and blood is gushing from the deep diagonal gash Lucifer’s flight feathers slashed into the side of his neck.

 

They battle all the way back to Hell, fighting tooth and nail, grappling, pummeling, wrestling, rolling, soaring, plummeting, and flailing, like a great green and black pinwheel spinning in the sky.

 

They seem to infect the very sky with their wrath. Then the heavens start to weep for them. The rain falls down hard and fast, like a curtain of silver needles, and they’re surrounded by crashing, flashing thunder and lightning. But they keep fighting; it’s as though they’re determined to tear each other apart.

 

By the time the rain stops, their clothes are hanging in tatters and their wings are speckled with blood—their own and each other’s. 

 

Hovering over the mouth of Hell, a great jagged bolt of silver lightning, accompanied by an almost deafening boom of thunder, splits them apart. Lucifer’s legs rapidly unwind from around Amenadiel’s hips, and Amenadiel withdraws his teeth from Lucifer’s neck. Their eyes turn nervously upwards. _Dad_?

 

They float there, just inches apart, ears ringing, dazed by that blinding flash.

 

When Lucifer makes a move towards him, Amenadiel quickly catches hold of his wrists.

 

“Luci! Stop!” He gives his brother’s wrists a determined shake. “Just stop! I am not your enemy!”

 

They face each other, motionless and tense for a moment that seems to last a century. Slowly, Amenadiel releases Lucifer’s wrists and gently cups his face between his hands.

 

 “Stop fighting me, Brother, and tell me: What is this about? Why are you so angry? What do you want?”

 

Lucifer’s lower lip begins to quiver and his eyes fill with tears. He pushes his brother’s hands away and answers, plainly and painfully.

 

 “Something I can’t have.”

 

Before Amenadiel can say anything, Lucifer tucks his wings away, folds his arms across his chest, and drops straight down into the fire-ringed mouth of Hell. 

 

Even cushioned by the ashes, his bones shatter and every breath is shaken from his lungs. But Lucifer is so miserable he doesn’t even care. The tracks of his tears burn new scars into his skin. When a shard of bone from his broken skull stabs like a knife into his brain Lucifer hopes it will cut his most unbearable memories out. Suddenly the sweet, pungent scent of lavender plugs his nostrils. The ashes are gone; he’s lying naked with his wings spread out on a bed of crushed flowers, surrounded by a sea of swaying purple, a field of lavender, silvered by moonlight, as far as the eye can see. Lucifer starts to scream.

 

Lucifer gasps, his eyes snap open wide, and he bolts up in bed. He stares around him, expecting to see billowing clouds of smoke, ashes, dancing flames and demon faces surrounding him, pushing through the phantom flowers, and smell the sulfurous burning eggs scent of brimstone vying with the heavenly perfume of lavender. When he fell into Hell that second time, his demons picked his broken body up out of the ashes and carried him screaming to his bed, still haunted by the ghost of those fragrant flowers. But this isn’t Hell; he’s safe in his penthouse, high in the sky above Los Angeles. He breathes deeply, not a whiff of lavender or brimstone. He buries his face in his hands. Sleep isn’t an escape; it’s an avenue leading to a new torment every night!

 

“Luci?” Amenadiel sits up beside him.

 

Lucifer’s fist slams into Amenadiel’s jaw.

 

“You son of a bitch, you spanked me!” He leaps out of bed and snatches up his robe, stalks over to the piano, and shakily lights a cigarette.

 

Amenadiel sits and stares dumbfounded, blinking in the first gray light of dawn. Of course, he nods—Naples, Caravaggio, the fish market, the one and only spanking he ever gave Lucifer. He winces and rubs his jaw, remembering the unforgettable time when it was dislocated by a fish.

 

“That was in 1606! Get over it, Luci!”


	20. Chapter Twenty

Amenadiel slips on his robe and leans in the doorway, watching as Lucifer angrily sloshes whiskey into a glass and starts pacing, drink in one hand, smoldering cigarette in the other. His eyes glow red and he looks as angry as a newly caged tiger, majestic, wild, and edgy, even the untied sash of his robe swishes behind him like a jungle cat’s agitated tail. So he waits and watches, giving Lucifer time to calm down.

 

***

 

After their skirmish in the sky, Amenadiel returned to the Silver City, all but naked, covered in bites and scratches, wings speckled with blood, and what little was left of his clothes hanging in luxurious brocade and lace tatters. Only his beribboned shoes remained intact. Standing by the fountain in the square, Uriel paused in the midst of the welcoming speech he was giving to a group of Heaven-worthy deceased mortals, looked him slowly up and down, and made a joke about “Lucifer’s love-bites.” Amenadiel knocked him cold with a single punch straight into the wide open, welcoming arms of the white marble angel in the middle of the fountain. “Welcome to the Silver City,” he forced a smile and said to the wide-eyed gaping humans, and continued on to his palace.

 

Midway, he paused and impulsively turned towards Lucifer’s palace instead. It remained untouched, like a shrine, no one but Amenadiel ever went there; it was understood that it was off limits to everyone else.

 

He climbed the spiraling silver staircase, twisting round and round like an immense corkscrew, just like one of his brother’s curls, up to a vast, open chamber, devoid of interior walls, sterile and cold, all silver, crystal, grey-veined white marble, regal ermine, cool ice white satin, and lush warm snowy velvet, illuminated by ornate crystal chandeliers and silver candelabrum. Lavender blossoms used to provide a vibrant purple splash. The crystal and silver vases were always filled with them; Lucifer loved them because “they make me feel calm and happy.” But now the vases all stood empty; a _noco_ had discreetly removed the last ones when they wilted after the Rebellion. Ermine lay before the massive fireplace and covered a bed wide enough for an angel to rest with wings fully spread beneath a crystal ceiling made for stargazing. Even Lucifer’s silver harp was inlaid with white mother-of-pearl and the silver stool beside it was upholstered in soft tufted white velvet to match the rest of the furniture. And the _nanalo_ , a celestial piano, was shimmering pearlescent white adorned with arabesques of silver and inset crystals. It was the most splendid palace in the Silver City, the first their father had built, a jewel box to house his Child of Light, who was spent and in need of peace and quiet rest to recover after bestowing his gift of light upon the heavens. It had the air of a showplace—luxurious, lonely, icy and stark—but not a home.

 

Unless they were quarreling, or it was a night meant for stargazing, Lucifer preferred to stay at Amenadiel’s palace, furnished in warm, rich tones of amber, honey and cream. Tapestries and bookshelves lined the roughhewn stone walls, rays of sunlight danced through stained glass windows, fur-trimmed quilts, where patterned and solid squares were joined with golden threads, draped the couches and covered the bed, and there were vases of lavender for Lucifer in every room. There was even a _nanalo_ and a harp so Lucifer wouldn’t have to return to his palace if he wanted music, and a table with the top beautifully inlaid with squares of varied colored jasper for the playing of _Nezisa_ , celestial chess, it even had drawers cunningly built into the sides to hold the game pieces. Lucifer felt warm and safe within the walls of his brother’s palace, not like an ornament on display in a silver and crystal case.

 

Logic dictated that Amenadiel should feel closer to his brother in his own palace. Eons after Lucifer was gone, he was still finding white feathers tucked between the pages of books that his brother had used to mark passages he liked or found interesting. But their last night together had been spent at Lucifer’s palace, so Amenadiel knew he would always be drawn back there.

 

Amenadiel dragged his sore, weary and wounded body into the bathing chamber. Lucifer had a bath Cleopatra would have envied—a large white marble tub, like a shallow swimming pool, sunken into a vast blue mosaic floor with a pattern of pink and yellow water lilies, with spotted frogs and dragonflies perching on lily pads, and Koi fish poking their whiskered mouths up for air.  It created the illusion of walking on water to reach the tub. The submerged floor of the bathtub was another mosaic design depicting gold and silver fish darting amongst mossy green reeds on the pebble strewn riverbed. The tub was surrounded by an illusion shower—floating white marble jugs, like double-handled Grecian amphoras, invisibly suspended seven feet in the air. They were angled as though held by phantom hands, pouring a continuous curtain of water down into the tub. It was like bathing inside a crystal veil or looking out from inside a four-sided waterfall.

 

Stripping off his rags and stepping into the tub, he tentatively fingered his tender, new-grown earlobe. The scratches and bites were already healing, baby-smooth new skin forming to knit the broken back together again.  If only the emotional wounds could be healed so easily! From crystal canisters he scattered dried lavender and chamomile into the water then sank back and shut his eyes, letting the warm, fragrant water soothe and caress him and wash the blood away from his skin and wings in long, swirling, fading red-pink ribbons that mingled Lucifer’s blood with his.

 

A lone white feather that must have become entangled amongst his own feathers floated free like a ghostly skiff bobbing atop the water. He caught it and lay back, stroking and preening the long, sleek length, wishing with all his heart that his brother would step through that curtain of water the way he used to do. If he did, Amenadiel would surrender his pride and say _Fetharsi_ and hopefully Lucifer would do the same. And they would laze and play in the warm water, and wash each other’s wings, fingers gliding, ruffling and rumpling, through the silky wetness. They would be _nanisi-namadima_ , flesh and feathers, again, putting everything right as they preened and aligned their feathers, and afterwards sleep in peace.

 

In that moment, Amenadiel decided to try to pray to his brother. They were no longer forbidden, but silence had long since become a habit between them. Concentrating with all his might, clasping Lucifer’s feather between his steepled hands, he tried to break through the silence. He tried until the water turned cold and then went to bed feeling as though his soul had turned into a mass of unshed tears. He slept with Lucifer’s feather over his heart and Lucifer’s stars shining down on him through the crystal ceiling. He was jolted awake from the most vivid dream with the panicked, ecstatic cry of _Ni dobix,_ _vemasi pim!_ (I am falling, catch me!), on his lips as his soul hurtled from the heights, feeling even as the words lingered the loving security of his brother’s arms holding him tight. He fancied he could even feel Lucifer’s warm breath stirring the short feathers cresting his wings, and the tickle of curls as Lucifer’s forehead slumped against his shoulder. But the feeling slipped away with the dawn even though he tried to hold on.

 

That was the night Lucifer froze Hell. And he left it frozen. Not just long enough for the demons to build snowmen from the frozen ashes or to go ice-skating on the Lake of Fire and sleigh-riding through the halls of Hell, but long enough to create a serious administration problem. Damned souls were piling up like firewood because, instead of being assigned rooms and demons to oversee their torture, as soon as they arrived in Hell they were immediately frozen solid.

 

By the time Amenadiel was made aware of the situation and sent to remedy it, four _extremely_ trying weeks had already passed, and he was worn to a frustrated frazzle. His father was very upset with him about the fight in the fish market, and also because he had punched “poor Uriel” almost the moment he got back to the Silver City, and in front of a batch of newly arrived souls no less. He sternly rebuked His firstborn son, reminding him that it was his task to escort Lucifer back to Hell, not to antagonize him, and cause hardworking humans tremendous losses in oceanic edibles. God expected better from His First Emissary.

 

Amenadiel was ordered to make generous reparation to the fish peddlers, which consisted not only of financial compensation but also a fortnight spent toiling in the Napoli fish market while fending off Caravaggio’s advances without maiming or murdering the provocative pest. The abrasive artist was always around making crude suggestions and sketches—especially if Amenadiel happened to have his shirt off while laboring on the docks or fishing boats. He boasted that a certain Duke had commissioned him to cover his bedchamber walls with erotic murals of Lucifer. His Excellency had seen his quartet of paintings and fallen into a fever of lust for the fascinating dark-haired model, with the mop of cherubic curls and come-hither eyes, who seemed at once both man and child, experienced yet innocent. He had purchased all four paintings but wanted more of that “devilish angel.”

 

Caravaggio was wild to get Lucifer back to pose for him again and urged Amenadiel to “go and fetch your so-called brother; I promise I will make it worth your while.” But Amenadiel had seen the look on Lucifer’s face when the artist spurned him. He always hated to see people adopt a “use and then lose,” attitude towards his little brother; it wasn’t good for Lucifer’s soul and caused him to short-change his self-worth. In spite of Amenadiel’s teasing, Lucifer really was a very good model; he had done fine work for Caravaggio, and many other artists, and deserved to be treated with courtesy and respect. So despite the artist’s pleas and promises, Amenadiel refused to intercede. He could only advise Caravaggio to “Pray to the Devil and he may appear. But if he does, I warn you, you’ll wish he hadn’t; you were not very nice to my brother.”

 

Once the fish peddlers had been appeased, Amenadiel was “urged” to apologize and spend some quality time with Uriel. They spent a _very_ tedious week taking a walking tour through Antwerp eating pickled herring and almond biscuits. But it got worse— _much_ worse—when Uriel awkwardly proposed that they should attempt the Act of Love. Amenadiel politely rebuffed him, he had no desire to be preened by Uriel. Uriel retaliated with a surprisingly passionate torrent of abuse directed at Lucifer because “even absent he stands between us!”

 

“About that night before the Rebellion,” Uriel said with feigned casualness, out of the blue, the next day while they were touring the textile district, “I’ve always wondered—did Lucifer give you the best night of your life?”

 

The implication was obvious and Amenadiel responded by smashing a spinning wheel over Uriel’s head, an act which earned him another scolding. But at least Uriel got one too—it was considered in exceedingly bad form to try to come between an established preening pair. Of course, Uriel argued that he had done no such thing since Amenadiel and Lucifer were no longer _nalemonala,_ he actually dared to insult them by using the word “lovebirds” instead of the proper and respectful term _vasiminip-pala_ for “preening pair.” Uriel was forced to sit squirming through a lengthy lecture about “the soul-poisoning evils” of jealousy and gossip. “And if you would speak of birds, my son…” He added a stern yet surprisingly gentle reminder that _narala,_ swans, had been created as a loving tribute to the devotion God’s children displayed to one another when they chose to become a preening pair. Such alliances were sacred, and neither undertaken nor forsaken lightly. “Only those who choose to unite should decide to divide, and no other should ever try to tear them asunder.”

 

While Uriel vigorously argued that surely Lucifer’s becoming the Devil should render any such union null and void as it would be a sacrilegious conflict of interest, as well as an insult, to expect any angel to preen the Devil’s plumage, Amenadiel was sent to deal with his mother’s latest bout of malicious mischief, which included raging smallpox and showers of slimy toads falling from the sky that triggered an alarming increase in witch dunkings and burnings. He actually had to dive down and pull a 600 pound wart-covered woman out of the mud she was mired in at the bottom of a pond in Cornwall before she drowned. His wings were a mess of tadpoles and slimy green algae when he emerged. As he cleaned them, he thought of Lucifer; his brother’s shade always seemed to haunt such moments. Lucifer would have instantly seen the humor in it, and he would have made Amenadiel see it too, he would have coaxed the smiles and laughter out of him despite his sour mood. Lucifer would have brought a tray of wine and olives to the bath, and scrubbed his brother’s wings with a brisk but gentle touch, and then taken his hand and led him to the bed for preening and a peaceful night’s rest, postponing his own preening until the morrow, and giving his brother his shoulder to rest on, just like he always did when Amenadiel returned from a particularly trying mission.

 

If only Amenadiel could have kept those feelings and memories at the forefront of his mind! But Mom wasn’t even done by half—ergot poisoning, Saint Vitus's Dance, salamanders, wildfires, rockslides, and a hideous herd of calves, goats, and sheep born with two heads, and three-legged horses that led to yet more witch dunkings, lynchings, and burnings were still to come! And by the time he finally got to Hell, Amenadiel was so short-tempered and spent that he was in no mood for Lucifer’s antics.

 

He found the flames guarding the mouth of Hell looked just like a bevy of ice blue jellyfish tentacles, only, instead of billowing and floating with fluid grace, they were frozen motionless and solid. Curiously, the demons as well as the damned were frozen; he hadn’t expected that. It was the eeriest thing—Hell was populated with life-size ice sculptures striking all sorts of poses. Mazikeen, Lucifer’s demon protector, was frozen in mid dagger twirl, practicing with her knives. And a group of icicle-spangled naked demons were frozen in the midst of what appeared to be a raunchy game of leapfrog, vaulting over each other’s backs on the banks of the erstwhile, now icy, Lake of Fire. For the first time, Amenadiel was allowed to walk through the halls of Hell unchallenged; no one barred his path or threatened him with Hell steel or asked if he had an appointment.

 

Inside the royal bedchamber, Abraxas, Lucifer’s fawning doormat of a valet, was holding a black satin and sable robe draped across his outstretched arms, frozen in mid-kneel, reverently offering it to his king. The royal bed was big and black with a canopy and net curtains to keep the ashes away while His Majesty slumbered. Lucifer lay behind the curtains, curled up on his side, shivering, his naked skin tinged blue with cold, and there were teardrops frozen on his face. To his everlasting regret, Amenadiel let anger best and blind him; he didn’t even stop to think what this might mean. When he couldn’t find where the curtains parted, he tore them, reached inside, and plucked Lucifer from the bed. He rubbed him vigorously to get his circulation going again. When he turned to snatch the robe, Abraxas fell over and shattered into pieces. Amenadiel simply kicked the bits of broken demon out of his way and wrestled the limp and listless Lucifer into his robe and then picked him up, roughly as a sack of potatoes, carried him into the throne room, and threw him on his throne. “DO YOUR DAMN JOB!” he shouted and walked away without waiting for an explanation.

 

The flames flared up in Lucifer’s eyes, and in that moment all hell broke loose in Hell. Everyone instantly melted back into wet, dripping life. There were demons everywhere trying to corral damned souls, and the air was filled with howls of despair and the most awful screaming and wailing of those who had abandoned all hope. Flames sputtered, sizzled and struggled, and then shot triumphantly high, and the blazing Lake of Fire came perilously close to overflowing. But Lucifer just sat there on his throne, hugging his knees, looking like a lost child with those big brown eyes and bed-tousled curls, ignoring his demons when they tried to speak to him and the damned souls who knelt before him begging for mercy. Looking back, just before he passed through the now flaming portal, it reminded Amenadiel of that old saying about Nero fiddling while Rome burned (though he didn’t actually, it was really a seven-stringed cithara; the fiddle wasn’t invented until the eleventh century). After that, Lucifer cut his hair, he started straightening his curls and stopped posing for artists. He spent less time on Earth and more time sulking in Hell and Amenadiel seldom saw him.

 

Only afterwards did Amenadiel clearly see the chance he had lost. But by then it was too late, Lucifer refused to even discuss it. He would never tell why he had frozen Hell, and in the end Amenadiel felt he had no one to blame but himself. It became his own mental Hell Loop, wondering what might have been if only…

 

***

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel squares his shoulders and descends the steps, determined to settle this once and for all.

 

Lucifer tosses his cigarette off the balcony and stalks back inside like a charging red-eyed bull.

 

“I’ll teach you to spank me!” he shouts and hurls his whiskey glass straight at Amenadiel’s head.

 

Without breaking his stride, Amenadiel dodges it.

 

“You don’t need to teach me, Luci, I already know how. Don’t make me do it again,” he warns.

 

“Ha! You and what army?”

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel catches hold of his wrist, “stop.” He deftly captures Lucifer’s other hand and sits down on the caramel leather couch, gazing up earnestly at his brother, holding both his hands, “stop and listen to me, please.”

 

Lucifer doesn’t pull away; he stands there, sullen and still, cautiously eyeing Amenadiel with that wary, trapped animal look.

 

“This has gone on far too long, Luci, and I’m tired of it. All this anger and hate, ignoring and running away…it takes too much energy and causes too much pain. Come on, Luci, aren’t you tired of it too? That’s the thing about anger, and hate too, neither one lasts on its own, you have to work at it and keep feeding the flames, because eventually every fire burns out unless you make an effort to keep it going. So tell me, please, Brother, what does it take to douse these flames?”

 

Panic flits across Lucifer’s face, and he jerks his hands away. His eyes dart around wildly, desperate for some distraction, some escape.

 

It’s always like this. Whenever Amenadiel tries to talk to him about what happened, there’s a look of such profound pain in Lucifer’s eyes that it makes him think it has to be something more than a stubborn unwillingness to forgive. His little brother is no coward, but there’s something there that makes Lucifer run every time.

 

“Luci…What are you so afraid of? Why won’t you talk to me about what happened to us?”

 

Lucifer looks away. “How was everything in the Silver City, Brother? Find everyone well? You never did tell me…”

 

Amenadiel shrugs and sighs, “I don’t really know, Luci, once I got there, I found I wasn’t in the mood for socializing. My heart just wasn’t in it, I guess. After I saw Charlotte settled, I went back to the place where I was last happy there.”

 

“Oh? And where was that, Brother?”

 

“You should know, Luci, you were there too.”

 

Lucifer bristles. His form briefly flickers before he manages to regain control.

 

“Ah, you must mean the Hall of Justice then,” he nods, drifting towards the bar to pour himself another drink. “Did you stand upon the dais, Brother? Did Father let you wear the red robe?”

 

Amenadiel crosses the room fast as lightning and seizes hold of Lucifer, whirls him around, sending glass and bottle flying, and slams his back hard against the bar. “DON’T YOU _EVER_ SAY THAT AGAIN!” he roars. His fingers grip the lapels of Lucifer’s robe so hard he can feel the stitches popping. It’s all he can do not to pick him up and throw him over the bar straight into the shelves of bottles.

 

Of all the things he could have said, how could Lucifer say _that?_ Did he know how much it would hurt? Before his anger can get the best of him again, Amenadiel lets go of Lucifer, turns and walks away.

 

By the piano, he pauses, keeping his back turned to Lucifer.

 

“To answer your question—I went to your palace. I don’t know what you think or what you’ve heard, Lucifer, but I _never_ regretted that night, and I never apologized for it either, not even to Father. If I had that night to live over again, I would spend it with you again.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

In the quiet haven of the guestroom, Amenadiel struggles to calm his raging temper. It’s just like Lucifer to provoke him and try to push him away, he’s tired and upset and lashing out. It’s nothing new, just the same old tactics.

 

Beckoning from a corner, the glimmer of gold teases his tear-blurred eyes.

 

Usually covered by his robe, or some other item of clothing, the bejeweled golden statue of the Pharaoh Nectanebo's pet baboon sits proudly perched upon a black marble pedestal. Amenadiel accidentally won it at an auction in 1926 when he went to London to fetch Lucifer back to Hell. The world was still tight in the grip of Tut Mania, as it had been ever since the discovery of the boy-king’s largely intact tomb four years previously. Lucifer insisted on staying until the end of the auction; it amused him to see the vast sums humans were willing to pay for these ancient accoutrements and curios. Amenadiel was hot and tired, and Lucifer generously offered him his paddle to use as a fan since he wasn’t interested in bidding on anything. As the auctioneer’s voice droned on, Amenadiel nodded off. And then…when the baboon was on the block, “going once…going twice...” Lucifer stomped his black-and-white wingtip shod foot down hard on top of Amenadiel’s foot. Amenadiel awoke, leaping up with a yowl that Sotheby’s accepted as the £35,000 winning bid. Afterwards, when it was time to settle the bill, they were not amused when Amenadiel said “But I don’t want that thing, it’s ugly!” Sotheby’s completely agreed, it was very ugly indeed, and they didn’t want it either, they just wanted their money—£35,000 please.

 

From the gilded beast’s deep-set eye sockets garnets glitter with dark malice around cold, dark obsidian pupils. He proudly wears his master’s cartouche, adorned with emeralds, peridot and pearls, upon his breast, an immense _udjat_ eye talisman to afford him protection and good health, and a wide ornate collar and matching wrist and ankle bracelets studded with turquoise, carnelian, and lapis lazuli. Scarab beetles, for luck and resurrection, each one carved from a single large gemstone, dangle from his belt, full circle around his furry waist, and both his ears and his nose are pierced with jewel-encrusted golden hoops. But the _coup de grâce,_ the death blow to good taste, on this very blinged-out monkey is the flawless opal glistening wetly, like a dewdrop flashing rainbows, on the tip of the baboon’s proud and erect penis.

 

Amenadiel shudders. It really is a hideous thing! He remembers that baboon very well and not at all fondly. He was a nasty little brute, addicted to exuberant bouts of public masturbation, always chasing and terrorizing the courtiers and servants with his long, sharp fangs, and trying to hump somebody’s leg, even an Angel of the Lord sent to deliver a message to the Pharaoh. Though far from funny at the time, it was the sort of thing he would have laughed about with Lucifer afterwards—if Lucifer had still been there to laugh with. So many times, for so many millennia, Amenadiel would catch himself thinking “I have to tell Luci about this!” or returning weary from a mission, eager to fall into bed, a part of his tired mind would forget and expect to find his brother waiting for him, and sadness would surge anew when the truth slapped him in the face—Luci wasn’t there and never would be again.

 

Maybe Lucifer somehow knew about Amenadiel’s encounter with the Pharaoh’s baboon. Perhaps that winning bid was his way of sharing the laughter even thousands of years after both Nectanebo and his cherished baboon were gone.

 

Upon his deathbed, Nectanebo told the High Priest that it was his greatest regret that the mummy of his beloved pet could not accompany him into the afterlife, and he had to make do with a statue instead. The lust-crazed beast had fallen off the royal barge while attempting to mate with a rower’s leg and was eaten by a Nile crocodile, and no remains could be recovered for mummification. The whole court, nobles and servants alike, had celebrated the demise of the Pharaoh’s baboon while Nectanebo stayed in his chamber and cried. Had they been together, Amenadiel and Lucifer would have laughed about that too. They would have probably joined the party.

 

Egypt was the number one party place of the ancient world; granted Babylon and Rome both had their merits, but Egypt was _the_ place to be. Once, during one of those rare and wonderful occasions when they mutually hit the pause button on their enmity, Lucifer had helped Amenadiel master the most challenging of all the Egyptian social graces—balancing an incense cone on top of his head without it toppling off while dancing or delivering the customary kiss of greeting when meeting friends, family, and casual or new acquaintances at Egyptian festivities. The kiss was an art unto itself with its own challenges and complexities as it varied depending on the degree of feeling and familiarity, also factoring in rank, fealty, and ambitions, but it was nothing compared to those slippery scented cones. After all, no lady wants a blob of perfume-saturated butter or myrrh-infused ox fat falling into her _décolletage_ when a gentleman leans to kiss her, as Amenadiel had discovered after suffering several embarrassing mishaps. He had also ruined the beaded sandals and robes of more than one dignitary in the same fashion. And once during a feast his cone had fallen from his head with a loud splashing plop into the duck and garlic stew; it was most embarrassing! Lucifer had spent a whole evening practicing with him in a rented room in Thebes; it was almost like old times, they actually had fun, and neither of them had laughed so much in a very long time.

 

So many might-have-been moments! If only…

 

With a sigh, Amenadiel wipes the tears from his eyes and heads into the bathroom to wash his face. On the vanity beside the sink sits a crystal dish filled with dusky pink, lavender, white, and, of course, _mint_ green soaps shaped like the most exquisite rosebuds. Lucifer always leaves these out for him as a playful reminder of the time when Amenadiel spent a week in a ritzy Manhattan hotel suite, trying to combine official heavenly business with coaxing Lucifer back to Hell, and mistook the fancy rose-shaped soaps for mints. The chambermaid was mystified but nonetheless refilled the soap dish every day. Lucifer laughed long and hard when he found out that his brother had been eating them.

 

Amenadiel picks up one of the green rosebuds and inhales the clean, crisp mint scent. He suddenly becomes aware of soft strains of piano music drifting in from the main room. He recognizes the song, “You Must Love Me” from the movie _Evita_. Lucifer isn’t singing, but Amenadiel knows the words.

 

“Deep in my heart, I'm concealing

Things that I'm longing to say

Scared to confess, what I'm feeling

Frightened you'll slip away

You must love me,

You must love me,

You must love me.”

 

Determination comes surging back as the last notes fade away.

 

“Brother,” Amenadiel rests his hands lightly on Lucifer’s shoulders, “ _please,_ talk to me…”

 

Lucifer hesitates. Suddenly saying how tired he is doesn’t seem a sufficient excuse anymore. And since he’ll just dream again, he really doesn’t want to go back to bed. Even thinking about books or TV takes too much effort, and just plucking out that one little tune that suddenly became maddeningly stuck in his head was wearying beyond belief. He’s just too exhausted to try to think of another excuse, so he gets up from the piano bench and reluctantly follows Amenadiel to the couch.

 

“Since you mentioned the Hall of Justice, it made me think…” Amenadiel begins. “Humor me, please, Brother, and describe the ritual of _Baltim.”_

 

“Whatever for?” Lucifer frowns.

 

“Just do it, Luci, please.”

 

“Oh, very well!” Like a sullen schoolboy, Lucifer recites: “Chained and clad in the robe of a penitent, barefoot, and unwashed since imprisonment began, the condemned is led into the Hall of Justice and made to kneel before the red-robed Voice and Presence of God—that would generally be you, Brother, since you are the Firstborn Son, First and Foremost of God’s Angels, as well as First Emissary. Everyone assembles in their finest garments and ornaments to evoke the Glory of God, and partake of refreshments—God’s Bounty—while they observe. It’s rather like combining a cocktail party with corporal punishment. The condemned is made to kiss the hem of the red robe, worn by the Voice and Presence of God to represent the Might and Fury of God, to show that he, or she, humbly accepts, and submits to, God’s judgment. The sentence is read, by the Voice and Presence of God, of course, and then his attendant offers up the ceremonial shears of silver, and he descends from the dais to carry out said sentence. The punishment varies according to the crime, but generally involves stripping and shearing, of the hair, and, if the condemned is to be cast into Hell, also of the wings to render flight impossible. Also all three if the sentence is Death by Obliteration since one guilty of a sin so great it warrants annihilation cannot be allowed to depart existence, or Heaven, with their dignity intact. And once the condemned has been dealt with—killed, cast out, put on public display, or led back to prison—everyone feasts and makes merry. If Gabriel is present, which he usually is, he always wants to play his trumpet, which isn’t at all merry, because contrary to legend his playing is atrocious, so it’s always best to try to get him drunk first since he has no head for wine and will pass out after a couple of goblets.” Lucifer yawns and gives Amenadiel a _and now are you satisfied?_ look. “Well, Teacher, do I get a gold star? Preferably a chocolate one wrapped in gold foil?”

 

“Well done,” Amenadiel says, “I’ll buy you a whole box of chocolate stars. Now tell me, how was your _Baltim_ different?”

 

“Well, I wasn’t made to kiss the hem of your robe for one thing, and you didn’t…” tears suddenly fill Lucifer’s eyes and his bottom lip starts to tremble, “…you didn’t…strip me or…or…shear me.” There’s that peculiar look in Lucifer’s eyes again, panicked and pained, and he starts to rise, but Amenadiel reaches out a gentle but firm hand to push him back down. He can feel Lucifer’s heart pounding beneath his palm. Maybe now they’re getting to the heart of the matter.

 

“Why do you think I didn’t?” he asks earnestly.

 

_“Don’t!”_ Lucifer wallows helplessly in the cushy depths of the couch, “…don’t, _please,_ Brother, don’t make me think about it, _please!”_

 

“Just this once!” Amenadiel cajoles. “Maybe then we can both banish these memories. Tell me, please, Brother, I really want to know—I _need_ to know—why do you think I didn’t strip or shear you?”

 

Lucifer squirms and finally, seeing there is no escape, blurts out, “Because you couldn’t stand the sight of me or to touch me!”

 

_“What?”_ Amenadiel sits back, astounded. Of all the possible answers, this one he _never_ expected! “Luci, what are you talking about? That makes absolutely no sense! I was with you the night before the Rebellion! Brother, you cannot have forgotten the Act of Love! Afterwards you slept with your head on my shoulder, wrapped in my wings. And when we parted, just after sunrise, we embraced and the words we spoke were loving. What happened in the hours that followed took nothing away from that! At least, not for me. Luci, what changed for you?”

 

“In prison,” Lucifer struggles to suppress his sobs, “I waited for you, I prayed to you, but you didn’t come, and you didn’t answer me! And later…I…I was sleeping…I think…I’m not sure! I was so cold and thirsty, I couldn’t tell if I was awake or dreaming, but I thought I heard your voice on the stairs—I was _sure_ of it!—and you sounded _so_ angry! I’d never heard you so angry before, not even when we quarreled! The Gaoler said you had come to kill me, and that it took him and all the guards to hold you back—you were mad with rage, he said you tried to tear the walls down to get at me! You were humiliated, your reputation ruined because of me, because everyone was saying… _shameful_ things! That I…that we…It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true, it was what everyone believed! They said that I corrupted the Act of Love, because _I_ was corrupt, flesh and soul, I was evil, I used your love for me against you, to seduce and trick you, to beguile my own brother, and keep you from betraying the Rebellion. It wasn’t true, not one word of it, but no one cared about the truth! They took how safe and loved I felt and made it a sin, and made me evil! The Gaoler told me you said: _If I am not First then I am Nothing!_ _And Lucifer made me Nothing!_ I took away what you valued most! And I understood when I saw you standing on the dais at my _Baltim_ that the only way you could redeem yourself was by sending me to Hell.” Lucifer’s wings suddenly unfurl, and he wraps them around his shivering body, raising one to hide his head as he lays it down on the arm of the couch and weeps as though his heart is breaking all over again.

 

“Luci…” Amenadiel kneels down before him. _“No!_ _No!_ The Gaoler put lies on my lips! I _never_ spoke any such words, and I never thought them either!” He reaches out a hesitant hand to stroke the quivering wing covering Lucifer’s head and, surprisingly, Lucifer allows it. Of course, Amenadiel realizes, Lucifer is so upset he may not even feel it. “I knew the beautiful truth, so why should I care about their ugly lies? And what they said wasn’t exactly new…Brother, you hadn’t been a virgin for 175 years, and I was still grooming your wings all that time, and everyone knew it. The Rebellion just added a new twist that made old news seem new again, and instead of whispering it in private they were shouting it in public. You know as well as I do, that the Silver City loves a scandal; even if it should be, Heaven isn’t above such things. And they were wrong to blame you; _I_ came to you, _I_ chose to stay with you that night. I did not desire or require the excuses they tried to make for me at your expense. You did not deserve that, Luci. But what I don’t understand, Brother, is _why_ you would believe the Gaoler? You’d known me all your life, but had you ever spoken to him, even in passing, before you became a prisoner? What happened? Why were you so confused? I knew you would be cold, but…and you said you were _thirsty?_ I don’t understand! _How_ is that possible? Every prisoner is supposed to have—”

 

“Don’t ask me about _that,_ Brother, _please!”_ Lucifer cowers under his wing, shaking violently. “I don’t want to talk about it! _Please!”_

 

“Okay, okay, it’s all right, Luci, we won’t talk about that now!” Amenadiel continues stroking Lucifer’s wing, endeavoring to calm him. “Luci, I came to the prison because I wanted to be with you, even if all I could do was hold you and wrap you in my wings, or simply sit outside your cell if they wouldn’t let me inside, but they wouldn’t let me anywhere near you. I was angry at them, not at you. I brought you berries and the quilt from my bed, but they wouldn’t carry a message or any ‘gifts of comfort’ to you. Father had forbidden it, just as He had forbidden us to pray to each other. That’s why I didn’t answer you, because I couldn’t. I prayed to you too, but Father had already severed the connection and we couldn’t hear each other anymore. I tried to bribe the guards, and even the Gaoler, to let me in, to spend even just a few minutes with you; I even offered them my necklace…”

 

Lucifer peeps out through his feathers. “But Father gave it to you!” he exclaims incredulously.

 

“Brother, He gave you to me before this necklace. Which do you think I value more? Consider that carefully, because if you say the necklace, I really will spank you,” he warns, trying to make Lucifer smile. “Luci, I did not want to preside over your _Baltim,_ I begged Father to excuse me, but He refused. He wouldn’t even let me see you so I could explain and ask your forgiveness for what I had to do. I didn’t want you to hate me or think that I stood there willingly. Father sentenced you to Death by Obliteration, you would have been lost to me forever, and I couldn’t bear that, I begged Father to be merciful and spare you. And later He did change His mind, though whether it was because of anything I said, or for some other reason, I don’t know, but He decided to banish you to Hell instead. I was afraid that if I defied Him and refused to preside that He would change His mind again and kill you.”

 

“Mum told me that _she_ persuaded Dad to send me to Hell instead of killing me.”

 

Amenadiel sits back on his heels, surprised.

 

Lucifer stares at him in obvious confusion. “Brother? You didn’t know?”

 

“Luci…I…I don’t know if that’s true, though I hope it is. I _really_ do! But…Mom was busy— _very_ busy—tormenting the humans. She hit them with a plague of locusts that destroyed their crops, and at the same time another plague that wiped out their cattle, they were riddled with disease and unfit to eat, the desperate ones who tried died. And then she brought down a terrible drought, and when they were dying for want of water, she answered their prayers and sent a typhoon…Those who had been dying of thirst drowned. I hope she did take time to plead for her son, you should have been more important to her than anything else, but if she did…I never knew. That whole time, while you were in prison, even up to the hour of _Baltim,_ I never heard from her, not one word, not even in answer to my prayers. She may have spoken to Father directly, of course…” he adds hastily, seeing Lucifer’s stricken expression, “I prayed to her, I asked her repeatedly to join her prayers with mine and implore His mercy…”

 

_“No!”_ Lucifer shakes his head vigorously. “No, you would have known! You would have been the one to arrange it if they had spoken! You were the one they always wanted to act as their intermediary! If Mum did something to upset Dad, He sent you to deal with it! And if she had something to say to Him, she said it through you! Sometimes they had you running back and forth 1,000 times a day, and by the time they decided to give each other the silent treatment you were spent! I know—I used to be the one who brought you olives and wine and put you to bed! She lied to me, Brother, Mum _lied_!” His face crumples. “Why am I surprised?” he adds with a bitter little snort of laughter halfway to a sob.

 

“Luci, we don’t know that for sure! Maybe…special circumstances…maybe they called a temporary truce to talk about it? Maybe they set their differences aside for once for the sake of their son!”

 

“I don’t believe that! So it really was Father’s idea then…to send me to Hell?”

 

“As far as I know,” Amenadiel nods. “Father was not interested in my opinions, and if He sought counsel from anyone else, I never knew it. I only know that I never mentioned Hell. I didn’t want to lose you, and I knew what that place would do to you. When the verdict came, I was too afraid to speak out against it. Remember Milton? He wrote: _The mind is its own place, and in it self can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven._ I gave him those lines; I whispered them in his ear while he slept. Even though the context he used them in was different, I wanted the world to know. That—and not to see or speak to you again for a thousand years—was my punishment. When I presided over your _Baltim_ and did Father’s bidding, I was an obedient son and chose Him; only I chose Him to protect you in the only way I could, so I didn’t _truly_ choose Him, and He knew it. But I couldn’t bear to touch you like that and to shame you. And when I broke _Baltim,_ in Father’s eyes I openly defied Him and chose you before all. He said I loved you more than Heaven, so He made Heaven Hell for me, so that in a sense we shared the same sentence; we were both guilty of defiance, rebellion. But I shouldn’t have had to choose!” Amenadiel cries and tears pour down his face. “I shouldn’t have had to choose between my father and my brother!”

 

He breaks down, and then, like the answer to a prayer, he feels Lucifer’s arms and wings enfold him. When he closes his eyes against Lucifer’s shoulder, Amenadiel sees the grace-filled light of his brother’s wings bright as day.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

“But why did you…” Lucifer finally whispers, tentatively, tearfully, in the tone of a question one can’t bear to, yet can’t bear _not_ to, ask.

 

“What, Luci? Why did I what?”

 

“The Gaoler…why did you…why did you let him? _Why?”_ The last word is torn from Lucifer’s throat in a heart-wrenching sob.

 

Before Amenadiel can stop him, Lucifer breaks free. In a wild, blind, frantic panic, he races towards his bedroom, desperately seeking some sanctuary. But he forgets that his wings are out and the force of them slamming into the stone walls flanking the doorway knocks him back down the steps. He falls hard, and lies trembling on the marble floor, quivering violently beneath his wings.

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel rushes to his side. He eases himself down on the floor beside his brother and cautiously reaches out to stroke his wings. “You mean something more than _Baltim;_ don’t you?” he asks carefully. “Did he…Did he hurt you?”

 

“It was long ago, it doesn’t matter now!” Lucifer sobs from under his wings.

 

“It matters to me, and it doesn’t matter how long ago it was. He hurt you. I can tell.”

 

_“Yes!”_ Lucifer admits in a tear-choked whisper.

 

Amenadiel lays his head down on Lucifer’s back and Lucifer feels the warmth of his brother’s tears soaking his skin and feathers.

 

“Tell me and be free of it.”

 

“Can’t we just forget?” Lucifer whimpers. _“Please!”_

 

“And let it keep haunting you, rising like a ghost from the grave where you’ve buried it? You’ve been keeping this bottled up inside you for eons, Lucifer, maybe setting the truth free will set you free. I don’t think it could hurt any worse than what you’ve been doing.”

 

“I’m supposed to be invulnerable!” Lucifer sniffles.

 

“Not emotionally,” Amenadiel replies patiently.  “Reject it if you will, _lucifitas,_ but you are still an angel, you were born to feel, even when it is your duty to observe and act dispassionately, you still feel everything intensely. And anyway aren’t there always loopholes, Brother? One angel can hurt another; Hell steel can kill us if the wound is deep enough unless divine intervention is swiftly rendered; and we are all subject to Father’s will. And there are means in the Silver City’s prison to subdue even the most powerful archangel.” Lucifer shudders violently and Amenadiel knows these words have struck a nerve. “You said something earlier that I didn’t understand, Brother, but you were so upset I let it pass. You said you were cold, thirsty, and confused, you didn’t know whether you were awake or dreaming. I know the prison is cold, and you would have felt it more keenly than most, you’ve always been sensitive to cold, but every prisoner, regardless of rank or offense, is supposed to be given food and water both on a regular schedule and by request. I know water for washing is forbidden anyone facing _Baltim_ as part of the ritual, but you should have been given a cup of water to drink every two hours, or whenever you wished; it is forbidden for the guards to deny anyone who asks for a drink, to do so is to court severe punishment.”

 

“I was given no water, Brother! Never! Not one sip! Whenever I asked, or even demanded it—I know the rules just as well as you do!—the guards sent for the Gaoler—because I was such a prestigious prisoner he insisted on dealing with me personally. Each time he would reach through the bars of my cell and take my cup, and open his trousers and…fill it!” Lucifer chokes in disgust.

 

“Oh, Luci!” Amenadiel gathers his brother in his arms, lifts him off the floor, and cradles him close. He understands now, and the truth sickens his very soul. It was the Gaoler’s responsibility to oversee the guards, to punish them if they were remiss. Only God and the First Emissary had authority over the Gaoler. Cutoff from both his furious father and eldest brother, ignored by one and forbidden to see or pray to the other, and knowing that he would receive no sympathy or help from his other siblings, there was no one for Lucifer to tell, no one to protect him.

 

Lucifer clings to Amenadiel, shivering as though he’s freezing, he tears past the cool silk robe, desperate to get at the warm skin underneath, and burrows against his chest.

 

“He made it plain that was all I would be given and I should drink it or do without. Naturally, I did without! And I soon stopped asking; just the sight of him standing there, with that mocking smile plastered on his face, pissing in that cup, hearing the stream clattering against the metal, made me sick. But the guards brought me bread three times a day without fail! They seemed quite happy to do it! It was black bread so thickly crusted with salt anyone seeing it at first glance might have mistaken it for iced gingerbread covered with sugar crystals. They brought it to torture me, not to nourish me, Brother! And they would leave it there, sitting inside my cell, beside that cup, either empty or filled with the Gaoler’s piss, until it was time to serve the next meal, then they would bring that salt-crusted bread again. Every time I looked at it, bile would rise up from my stomach and burn my throat, and I thought I would surely go mad for want of water. But I would not submit! I would not give them the satisfaction!”

 

Amenadiel feels as though he’s just been kicked in the stomach. He feels absolutely ill, and mad enough to kill, just thinking about what his brother endured... _And I wasn’t there to protect him!_

 

“I prayed to you,” Lucifer shivers and sobs, clutching at Amenadiel’s robe, instinctively trying to burrow closer, he just wants to be held, safe and tight, “but you didn’t come, and when you did you were angry! The Gaoler said that you had come to kill me. I lay there shivering in the straw, and I wept because I didn’t want what he was saying to be true. Sometimes I was _so_ certain it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, I _knew_ you loved me, you had always loved me! But other times…I wasn’t sure! Everything was so jumbled and clouded inside my mind, as though my brain was sinking into thick mud. And I felt so weak and sick! I had never felt that way before and I was scared; you weren’t there to take care of me, you would have known what to do, and the guards wouldn’t send for the _Noledisa!_ I told them I was unwell and demanded that they summon the Healer, but they just laughed at me! I felt so unwell that I even swallowed my pride and prayed to you to send the Healer, but you ignored me—or so I thought,” he adds quickly. “And then I realized, I was supposed to feel like that, and once I understood, I tried to fight it, I really did! They had put shackles of Hell steel on me, but they weren’t ordinary shackles, Brother. They fit very tightly and instead of being smooth inside the cuffs, they had tiny little needles that wouldn’t prick deep enough to be fatal, just enough to pollute and poison the bloodstream. They put them on my wrists and ankles and chained them to the walls, and every time I moved, the needles…”

 

 “Oh Luci, Luci…” Tears pour from Amenadiel’s eyes.

 

Lucifer sobs and shudders violently and Amenadiel holds him tighter, his fingers digging deep into the wings trailing limply down Lucifer’s back. _Why_ was this allowed to happen? How could their father, even in the brightest blaze of his anger, allow this to happen? Not even the most rebellious child deserves such treatment! _I should have been there; I should have tried harder, found a way_ … _Luci needed me_!

 

 “He came into my cell, it must have been very late, I could not see the sky, there was no window in my cell, so I had lost track of the hours, but it was so very silent when he came. It alarmed me when I noticed that there were no guards about; I thought they must have been asleep. I think I knew something bad was about to happen. I couldn’t understand at first; it was as though he was speaking a language I couldn’t comprehend, but he kicked me until I sat up, and the needles made my blood flow again. I forced myself to fight it, to focus and stay alert. He reminded me why you were so angry—because I had ruined everything for you. So you would ruin everything for me, even if it must be by proxy, to keep your hands clean, so you had sent him to deal with me, and you had given him leave to do whatever he wished with me. I’ll never forget the way he smiled; it was a smile of pure evil, and I _still_ say this is true, for I have seen much of evil since then, Brother. That _creature_ did not belong in Heaven! He was not like any of the other _noco_ I had ever known before. He said he was sure I would not mind what he intended, since I was known to be an insatiable little whore…”

 

With a cry of utmost anguish accompanied by a mighty whoosh, Amenadiel’s wings unfurl and protectively enfold his brother, trying to at least shield him from the pain these memories bring. He sees it all so clearly now. When he delegated the Gaoler to strip and shear Lucifer, he had unknowingly sanctioned another form of rape—a public one that everyone saw, without seeing it for what it truly was, so they just stood by and watched, calmly, or even gleefully, sipping their wine and eating their figs. A crime was committed right before their eyes, and no one did anything to stop it. Intending to be kind, he had done something unspeakably, unbearably, and unforgivably cruel, without ever realizing it. When Lucifer had needed protecting the most, he had failed him, and even seemed to sanction what had been done to him. No wonder Lucifer was so hurt and angry!                             

 

“He said the most _horrible_ things, Brother, about us, terrible, false things that were not even in the vicinity of truth! I told him, but he refused to believe me. He said I protested too much and that proved what I called lies were truths. He pushed me down and knelt beside me and began to press and pound on my back, harder and harder, trying to make my wings come out. And then he stood and kicked me, but I was determined that they should stay in. When the blows and kicks failed, he pinned me down in the straw and tried touching me, intimately, as he had no right to do, to try to trick them out. He knew enough of angels to know that our wings are subject to passion and in such moments can have a life of their own. He wanted to make me lose control, but I wouldn’t! I found him so repulsive that…my body would not respond to him, no matter what he did with his hands…or mouth. He said earthworms had more life in them than my cock did. Perhaps the Hell steel helped, by weakening me and poisoning my blood, if so, I was heartily glad of it. Through it all that was the only consolation I had, that my own body did not betray me. I kept my wings folded in tight. He was _furious,_ he said… _No!”_ Lucifer buries his head against Amenadiel’s shoulder. “No, it’s too awful, too ugly, to tell! You shouldn’t have to hear it! I don’t want you to!”

 

“But you did, you heard it,” Amenadiel reminds him gently, stroking his hair, the nape of his neck, and his feathers, as Lucifer huddles trembling against his chest. “Luci, you should not have had to suffer this at all, and you should not have suffered the torment of these memories for all these eons, and I will not let you suffer the reliving of them now alone. Keep nothing back; let it all go…let all the poison drain away…”

 

“To infect you? To pour out of my soul into yours? _No!”_

 

“No, Luci, so the poison, without a bloodstream to carry it along, will lose its power, and we can both be free and healed, and, I hope, forgive.”

 

“Not _him!_ Not ever!” Lucifer’s eye blaze and his form flashes a furious scarlet.

 

“I didn’t mean him, Luci,” Amenadiel strokes the barren, blistered red scalp back into a tangle of sweat dampened black would-be curls again, “I meant me. He didn’t want your forgiveness, and anyway he’s beyond it, but I always have, and still do. Obliterate him from your memory; he doesn’t deserve to live, not even in a Hell Loop. Tell me the rest now and lay this ghost to permanent rest.”

 

Lucifer draws a deep, shuddering breath. “He said…he said…” Lucifer breaks down again, clinging to his brother and shaking his head, fingers clutching desperately at dark feathers.

 

“It’s all right, Luci, you’re safe; he can’t hurt you now, or ever again, he died long ago.” From the way Lucifer’s body stiffens, Amenadiel suspects he knows this, but doesn’t press for answers; that part of the story isn’t important now, all in due course, if it matters he’ll know soon enough. “Remember, as a _noco_ he had no soul, all essence of him was obliterated when he passed from existence. All the power is yours, Brother, he hasn’t any. Shine your light on his crimes, _lucifitas,_ illuminate them, and then banish him forever.”

 

“He said…” Lucifer draws a deep, gulping breath then blurts the rest out as quickly as possible, hating each vile word, “he said…‘The First Emissary shouldn’t be the only one who has the pleasure of coming with his cock buried in the Lightbringer’s bright feathers!’ He asked me if my feathers clasped you at the moment of ecstasy, did their shafts clutch and quiver against your fleshly shaft, and did they glow even brighter then. He said he _had_ to know what it felt like to ‘fuck divinely’ and that I would not deny him—but I did! I _did_ deny him! I would not unfurl my wings! I told him he knew _nothing_ of the Act of Love if he thought it was _anything_ like _that!_ But he didn’t believe me. He said the act was no longer pure because I was no longer pure, I was corrupt and carnal, and that meant I could no longer love purely. And then he said…he said I could close my eyes and pretend he was you, he even offered to blindfold me if that would make it easier! He even offered me water—real, cool, clean, pure water—and anything I wished to eat, if I would only unfurl my wings. But I wouldn’t! I told him if he thought I could, or would, do that then he was an even greater fool than he already appeared, and that by no stretch of the imagination could I _ever_ confuse his touch with yours even if I were blindfolded, or even pretend that you would ever do what he wanted to do to me. You loved me! He said I was the fool if I thought anyone could love me; that not even my father and mother, or any of my other siblings did, so why should you be the exception to the rule? He laughed and laughed and said I might as well be honest and tell him, he had a burning curiosity to know, who was on top or if we took turns. He said he’d always suspected that knowing my vanity and pride and rebellious nature that you would relish pinning me down and being my master, just like he was going to do…”

 

“He was a monster!” Amenadiel exclaims, seething and shaking with fury, like a volcano filled with rage. “A creature so foul did not deserve a place in Heaven! He knew nothing of mercy or love! To rape one of God’s angels!”

 

“Angels are supposed to be chaste and pure; I wasn’t…”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Amenadiel says patiently and firmly, “he had no right to do what he did. The sin was his, not yours, Luci; whether you were virgin or not, chaste or wanton, angel, devil, or mortal makes no difference. He violated your body and your mind. If he weren’t already dead, I would kill him myself! I have loved you since the moment you were born; how _dare_ he try to take that away from either of us, and to make you feel unworthy of giving and receiving love!”

 

As Amenadiel’s wings surround Lucifer, Lucifer’s own wings, draped loosely behind his back, spread and, held low, twitching with emotion, encircle Amenadiel’s waist. It might appear to uninitiated eyes a tricky or even uncomfortable maneuver, but their wings are very flexible, and, despite a lengthy hiatus, they’ve been doing this almost since Time began, and the wings don’t forget.

 

“I didn’t want him on me, or in me,” Lucifer continues in a tear-choked whisper, “but the shackles, the chains…I couldn’t fight him or escape, when I struggled against him the needles...I was helpless, Brother! I couldn’t stop him! I tried! I truly did!”

 

“I know you did, I know, I know…”

 

 “But I couldn’t! I was too sick and weak! I had had sex with men before, but it was _never_ like that, never so _brutal!_ I didn’t want him! I didn’t want _this!_ As I lay under him, I understood more clearly than ever before how important choice, consent, and free will are—because he took mine away! I didn’t want him inside me, and afterwards, I couldn’t wash…I’d never felt so dirty, so unclean before! I wanted to bathe even more than I wanted to drink; I wanted to be clean! At least the flames of Hell would purify me!”

 

Lucifer collapses exhausted and weeping against Amenadiel.

 

Amenadiel feels utterly helpless; all he can do is hold his brother.

 

“Oh Luci…I understand what happened now, and why you can’t forgive, and why you hated me...”

 

Kneeling on the marble floor, wrapped in each other’s wings, they rock together in tearful silence. Lucifer lets himself be held, and feel safe again, the way he used to so long ago, and the tears gradually stop falling, and the lump of unshed tears dissolves inside his throat.

 

“I never hated you,” he confesses softly, his ear against his brother’s heart, listening to the soothing beat. “Not really. I tried to; I thought that I should, that it would be easier, better, if I did. Sometimes I was so angry I almost succeeded in convincing myself that I truly did, I told myself that I _should_ hate you, that I had every cause and reason to, and yet I couldn’t, I still wanted…what I couldn’t have, and thought I should have too much pride to still want. There was always a war raging inside me. I couldn’t bear my wings, and my heart, saying the love was real, and my head saying it wasn’t because of what you did, or what I thought you did, so I _had_ to forget or go mad!”

 

“I understand, Luci, I really do. Sometimes my head thought it did hate but my heart knew that wasn’t true, but it hurt so much to look back and remember the way we used to be, to want that back again, and to try so hard, and yet to fail over and over again. Luci, you _must_ believe me, I would _never_ have let anyone hurt and violate you like that if it were within my power to prevent it, I would have died first. Oh no!” he slumps down, horrified. “Oh Luci, what you must have thought when…Luci, when I made the mistake of sending Malcolm… I was at my wits’ end; I was _desperate_ to get you back to Hell. I was angry because you were shirking your duties, and I didn’t want to be in Hell any more than you did, it intensified my anger, my feelings of bitterness and resentment. I had my work to do and didn’t want to have to do yours too. I didn’t know about the Gaoler, if I had known… _Please_ , Brother, you must believe me!”

 

“I do believe you,” Lucifer murmurs tiredly. “Don’t worry about it, Brother, Malcolm doesn’t signify; water under the bridge, he was nothing more than a pesky little wasp. He killed me—temporarily—but he never hurt me. It’s not the same at all.”

 

“Oh Luci, I’m so sorry for what I, in my ignorance, did! I let the Gaoler assume my duties at your _Baltim_ because I couldn’t bear to lay hands on you like that, to be the one to shame and shear you, I just couldn’t do it! I thought I was being kind and sparing both of us! I didn’t know then if or when we would see each other again, and I didn’t want that to be the last memory for either of us! I wanted to keep the memory of our last night together alive, so you would know…so you would remember, even in Hell, how much I loved you. I hoped you would hold onto that memory the same way I did, and that it would give you solace. I didn’t know…and I…I let him rape you again in a different way when he stripped and sheared you. I’m so sorry! I wish I knew what else to say or do! I’ve never felt so helpless, not even when I lost my powers, or so angry with myself!”

 

“Angry…with…yourself?” Lucifer lifts his head, perplexed. “I don’t understand; why should you be angry with yourself, Brother?”

 

“Because I failed, everything I did was intended to protect you,” Amenadiel strokes his brother’s tear-streaked face, “and yet I failed—miserably—and you were hurt even more because of me.”

 

“I should have known,” Lucifer sobs, “I should have remembered. I’m sorry I made myself forget!”

 

“It’s all right,” Amenadiel whispers soothingly, stroking Lucifer’s hair and wings, “it’s all right, Luci. I just want you to be free and at peace now, that’s all that matters, and for your memories of that _beast_ and what he did to be as dead as he is. I don’t want him to hurt you ever again, even in memory.”

 

“Maze obliterated him,” Lucifer confesses.

 

“I never knew that, only that he was found dead in a slum alley in London near the end of the 19th century.”

 

“November 9, 1888,” calmer now, Lucifer shifts his position slightly, to rest his head on his brother’s shoulder, and his fingers swirl and fidget amidst dusky feathers, the way they always used to do, while Amenadiel holds him and strokes his wings, “he was looking for ‘two little whores with no hope of Heaven’…”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

“I know one should never trust a ginger, Brother, but I quite liked Mary Jane—or Marie Jeanette as she liked to call herself—and I knew better than to believe her lies, poor dear, even when she didn’t. I suppose living in a fantasy world was far more desirable than the wretched reality of Whitechapel. She liked to boast of having been the favorite at a high class brothel in the West End and being taken on pleasure trips to Paris by the Madame and wealthy gents. But the closest she ever got to Paris was a bar of French soap she nicked from a shop so she could pretend she’d brought it back with her from one of her Parisian jaunts. She used to take it out of her pocket and pass it around and let the other doxies take a good long whiff to lift their spirits up. He saw us together at the Ten Bells tavern, he followed us, I walked a little ways with her, and when we parted we made plans to meet later at her room, 13 Miller’s Court. But he got there first. There was _nothing_ left of her, Brother! _Nothing!_ I was too late, I couldn’t save her! I’ve seen so many horrible sights, but _nothing_ will ever compare to what _that creature_ did to Mary Jane Kelly!”

 

Amenadiel knows. He’s seen the butchery and horror captured in those grainy old black and white photos of Jack the Ripper’s fifth and final victim. But did history get it wrong? Was a celestial servant, and not a depraved mortal man, the fiend who slaughtered five careworn daughters of the pavement in the infamous autumn of 1888?

 

“They were only able to identify her by her ginger hair and green eyes. Her face was completely gone, Brother, he’d shredded it from her bones. He tucked her hand inside her belly, and left her breasts and innards on the nightstand, and her heart between her legs as though she had expelled it from her womb and given bloody birth to it. Oh, it was a _horrible_ sight, Brother! The mattress was still dripping blood onto the floor; I can still hear it falling. He came up behind me, he had a dagger of Hell steel, and slashed my clothes open down the back from collar to bum, he did it with such skill that my skin was grazed only just enough to warn me that he meant business, I barely bled. He pushed my ruined garments from my shoulders and shoved me towards the bed and ordered me to mount her. He wanted to have me while I had what was left of her! But he didn’t have the chance to insist, Maze crept up behind him. Mary Jane had lost the key to her room, and she would reach in to unlock the door through a broken window pane, and if she could do that, anyone else could too; I thought it rather pointless to even bother locking the door. Maze drove her knife so deep into his back the tip came out through his belly…”

 

“Did Maze know?” Amenadiel asks gently. “About what the Gaoler did to you?”

 

“No, Brother, I never told anyone until now, and I don’t want anyone else to know. It ends here; yes?”

 

Amenadiel nods in agreement. Even though he realizes that therapy could be beneficial, the last thing he wants is for Lucifer to ever have to relive this real life nightmare again. “It ends here,” he promises.

 

Lucifer settles his head back on his brother’s shoulder and continues. “Maze was just protecting me like she always did. We left him in an alley several streets away, and no one ever made the connection, and in death he looked the same as any mortal so no one ever knew him for a celestial servant. I suppose they must have put him in a pauper’s grave. It was that time they called the ‘Autumn of Terror’ and every woman who walked the streets of London lived in fear of Jack the Ripper. Mary Jane was assumed to be his latest victim. But some good did come of it, Brother—besides the Gaoler’s death of course—her murder was so gruesome and frenzied that not even the real Ripper could top it. The murders he committed afterwards were mistakenly credited to copycat killers, they never achieved the same level of interest, and the fear started to fade away, and the headlines, and that distressed him so much that he eventually took his own life, and then he was _mine!”_ Lucifer’s eyes blaze with fire and Amenadiel feels the warmth of Hell’s flames briefly against his flesh.

 

“I had no idea! So was the Duke of Clarence responsible for the other murders then? I’ve heard rumors…”

 

“No, Brother, that old chestnut is entirely a manufactured mystery, Eddy died of influenza in 1892, not of suicide or a discreet act of royal euthanasia as the rumors would have it. An air of secrecy and scandal surrounds him only because he liked to visit a male brothel in Cleveland Street, and the royal family was desperate to keep it quiet. Trust me, the lad would have wet his trousers and run the other way if one of those unfortunate women had even approached him! He barely knew what to do with a knife at the dinner table; he had a servant to cut his meat for him. He was rather simple-minded and very wooden—and I don’t mean in a good way—still…he could be rather sweet. The real Jack the Ripper was…” he leans in and whispers in Amenadiel’s ear.

 

_“Really?”_ Amenadiel’s jaw drops.

 

Lucifer nods gleefully. “Oh yes!”

 

Gently, Lucifer pulls away and stands. He reaches down a hand to help Amenadiel rise. “I think I’ll have a shower—after all that I have the most overwhelming desire to wash—and then to bed, hopefully, this time, to sleep.”

 

“Good idea,” Amenadiel agrees as he follows Lucifer up the marble steps. “Sprinkle me with hyssop and I shall be cleansed; wash me, and I shall be made whiter than snow,” he quotes the 51st psalm.

 

“Lucky thing I have hyssop scented shower gel,” Lucifer grins, “though I wouldn’t count on it making me whiter than snow; I do have a reputation to maintain.” He pauses uncertainly as Amenadiel prepares to climb back into bed. “Brother, can we sleep in your bed, in the other room?”

 

“Of course,” Amenadiel instantly agrees. “I’ll be waiting for you there.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Luci…you’re just going to have a shower, right? You’re not going to take any pills or anything?”

 

“The pills are all gone, Brother, as you bloody well know, and the other drugs too, you vacuumed up the last of my cocaine. And even if they weren’t gone, the answer to your question would be the same—No. I’m just going to have a shower.”

 

“Just checking.”

 

“Just being an over-protective mother hen, you mean,” Lucifer corrects on his way into the bathroom.

 

***

 

True to his word, Lucifer doesn’t even rummage in the drawers or lift the rug looking for stray pills. He lathers his body with the crisp, clean minty-lavender-ish hyssop scented shower gel and breathes deeply of the sinus-clearing scent, letting it chase the last of the tears away.

 

Standing beneath the beating hot spray, he finds he really does feel purified…and better. There’s a sense of serenity he hasn’t felt in a very long time. The shackles have fallen from him, and he’s finally free. He feels at peace now, and he knows what he wants. He still has to wait for Chloe to make her decision, all he can do is hope that she really will choose him, the whole of him, Devil and all. But in the meantime, there is a choice he _can_ make, something he _can_ have…he only has to say the word…

 

***

 

Lucifer stands beside the bed, where Amenadiel rests with his wings spread across the sky blue satin pillows. Suddenly nervous, he tarries with one knee on the mattress, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the sash of his black silk robe. He sniffs the air, there’s a familiar fragrance, sweet and calming, and he turns away to examine the scented candle in the wall sconce.

 

“Ye Olde Colonial Candle Companie, how very quaint, Brother,” Lucifer observes. “But at least it isn’t Tropical Musk, it’s…”

 

“Lavender Fields,” they say as one, Lucifer reading from the label.

 

Lucifer is looking at the picture—a rolling field of purple beneath a sky of perfect blue.

 

“If it bothers you, blow it out,” Amenadiel offers, “but I thought it might help you relax.”

 

“Did you now?” Lucifer says, still staring at that picture of profuse and perfect purple. “Are you sure you weren’t trying to remind me of something, Brother?”

 

Amenadiel takes a deep breath. This could be the defining moment, the one that answers the question: where do we go from here?

 

“You always said you loved lavender because it made you feel calm and happy. But if I were also trying to remind you of something…Would that memory be a happy one or something you would rather snuff out the candle and forget?”

 

The die is cast.

 

Lucifer leans closer to the candle.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

The fragrance conjures vivid memories.

 

***

 

The full moon is like a coin of bright new silver shining against the midnight sky. Standing knee-deep in lavender, like a lake of undulating purple as far as the eye can see, the Archangel Lucifer stares up at it. From time to time he drinks from a bottle of wine. There’s an air of weary discontent about him. Even the flowers and ribbons he indulgently allowed his sisters to put in his wings look sad and wilted. He sighs deeply and spreads his arms and wings wide. He stands for a moment, enjoying the cool, fragrant night breeze, closes his eyes, and falls backwards into the lavender.

 

Normally Lucifer loves parties, but tonight’s festivities in the Hall of Rejoicing left him feeling peevish and out of sorts. Of course, by now he’s long accustomed to the admiring hands that are always reaching out to stroke his wings, the sisters who always have something pretty to adorn them, and the bold or timid invitations whispered by those who long to groom them; invitations that Lucifer always rejects, either with a patient and gentle smile or a disdainful shove and a curt rebuke, depending on who is asking and how they phrase it. Of course, it’s nice to be admired and desired, but...it gets wearying after a while. And it’s all rather pointless anyway since everyone knows only Amenadiel preens his wings. But they’re allowed to ask since Lucifer and Amenadiel have never announced what everyone knows—that they’re _vasiminip-pala._

 

Frivolous and inquisitive he may be, he’s often been described as flighty and capricious, but Lucifer has never felt even the slightest desire to have anyone else tend his wings. To be perfectly candid, most of his other siblings rub him the wrong way even during the most casual interactions, so he isn’t about to let any of them attempt a more intimate form of rubbing. His feathers puff with displeasure at the mere suggestion. Quarreling with them simply doesn’t light a fire inside him like sparring with Amenadiel does, or plunge him into the deep blue doldrums when the argument truly is serious. And he never feels with any of them that surge of comforting hope that comes with knowing that saying one word will bring a state of gentle, loving truce that makes everything better.

 

While some of his sisters can be quite sweet and even fun at times, when taken in small doses, festooning his wings with gilded pinecones isn’t something Lucifer is interested in incorporating into the Act of Love, though he will sometimes stoically endure being decorated before a party since it seems to give them so much pleasure. Lucifer’s wings give an annoyed little flap, pounding more perfume out of the lavender. The girls always tie the berry garlands too tight and every time he moves it pulls his feathers! His fingers pick and tug at the nearest knot but give up quickly in frustration; he’ll either have to gnaw through the string with his teeth or let Amenadiel deal with it.

 

He drinks deeply from his bottle again and, finding it suddenly empty, flings it away in disgust. He really should have grabbed another bottle when he stormed out of Gabriel’s party. He feels restless, tired, melancholy, irritable, and tense all at the same time. Maybe he should go wake the _Noledisa_ up and request a soothing tonic?

 

A shadow suddenly falls across him.

 

“I thought I might find you here,” Amenadiel says.

 

“Lay with me in the lavender, Brother,” Lucifer smiles and reaches up his hands to him. “I don’t suppose you brought more wine?” he adds hopefully.

 

“No, Luci, I think you’ve had enough wine,” Amenadiel says, but he takes the proffered hands and joins Lucifer in his nest of lavender.

 

“You left the party early.”

 

“Oh, noticed that, did you?”

 

“Luci, you shoved a pomegranate in Gabriel’s face and ground his nose in it and threatened to shove his trumpet up his ass. _Everyone_ noticed. When I left he was still digging the seeds out of his nose. Now, Brother, you know that is not the proper way to take leave of your host,” Amenadiel scolds gently. “Gabriel did not have to invite you to his party. Maybe tomorrow you should send him a basket of fruit,” Amenadiel pauses and frowns thoughtfully, “or… given what happened with the pomegranate…perhaps nuts or flowers would be a better choice.”

 

_“I will not!_ _He’s_ the one who should be sending _me_ a fruit basket! And if he does, I’ll shove the whole thing in his face! He said something I didn’t like!” Lucifer pouts. “He was _mean_ to me, Brother!”

 

“What did he say?” Amenadiel asks patiently.

 

“Not now, Brother; later, please! Right now I just want to wallow in the lavender!”

 

“Look at you,” Amenadiel smiles indulgently and shakes his head at the big, soft, cushy round pink and red snowball flowers, multicolored ribbons, and swags of dried berries. “Why do they think you need all this?” He tosses a pink snowball away, watching it fall and sink into the lavender sea.

 

“You’re just jealous because no one hangs garlands of berries in your wings!”

 

“Actually, I’m glad they don’t, especially with knots like these. Your wings remind me of a _noco_ bride tonight, Brother.”

 

At that, they both begin to laugh, and once they start, they can’t stop. It really is very funny!

 

While some angels regard the _noco_ as soulless non-entities, like sticks of furniture that magically come to life and bring them food or bath towels and scrub their floors whenever the need arises, others grow quite fond of their servants, regarding them almost like members of their extended family, and when they marry give a generous gift of silver and crystal coins to pay for their nuptial celebrations. And every angel who attends brings a gift of crystal candy fashioned in either symbolic or fun, fanciful shapes.

 

The _noco_ are known for their lavish and lively wedding parties. After much dancing, feasting, games, and merrymaking, when the hour for the bridal couple to withdraw to their chamber draws nigh, the guests wrap the bride tightly from bosom to ankles in layers of brightly colored ribbons, tucking flowers, candies, coins, gems, berries, and other small gifts amongst the layers—a ritual, many millennia later, when they come into being, that Egyptian mortals will adapt with strips of white linen and hidden talismans to bury their beloved dead.

 

The angelic guests, with the experience of patience that preening—their own Act of Love—teaches them, make many jokes about how long it will take the groom to unwrap his bride. But, despite their chastity, the angels know that patience leads to even greater fulfillment, for it is a journey rich in gifts, and along the path they find and pluck the beautiful and sustaining fruits of trust and understanding, as well as pleasure, and forge a deeper, more loving bond.

 

Amidst much cheering, the groomsmen hoist the ribbon-bound bride onto their shoulders and, in a symbolic shower of seeds thrown by the guests, carry her to the marriage bed. While the party goes on without them, the bridegroom will likely spend hours unwrapping her since some of the knots the guests tie are quite cunning, and cutting them is forbidden. It’s considered very unlucky to have to cut the ribbons, due to impatient, hasty need or obstinate knots, and the bride must be entirely bare and unbound before the groom can plant his seed. For unlike the angels, _dazi_ _jezasam nolis_ , the chaste ones, they serve, the _noco_ can breed, though not excessively, since it wouldn’t do for the Silver City to become overrun with them. But many _noco_ brides seem to long for this “blessing” and get a soft, dreamy look in their eyes when they speak of the “miracle of birth,” so it’s considered polite to wish them well and throw handfuls of seeds at them.

 

Lucifer loves _noco_ weddings, except for the seeds. He much prefers the colorful sugar-shelled almonds that angels give to announce that they’ve become _vasiminip-pala_ , a preening pair. The candied almonds taste better and are far less worrisome than wedding seeds. And it’s always fun trying to guess what the colors mean; they always hold some special significance to the pair who chose them, and each other. Everyone guesses, but _vasiminip-pala_ never tell, not even if someone guesses correctly; that’s their secret. Whenever the platters piled with roasted and seasoned seeds are passed around, Lucifer always makes sure to cover his navel just in case a server should trip or be jostled by a clumsy or drunken guest. He’s heard plenty of angel whispers about what the _noco_ do on their wedding nights—the groom plants a seed inside his bride, presumably through her navel, and sometimes, if God wills it, it takes root and grows into a new _noco_. This happened to Azrael’s maidservant and the root mass caused her stomach to swell up like one of the big green melons with the sweet watery pinkness inside, and she had to withdraw into the quiet seclusion of her lying-in chamber and rest flat on her back to await the seedling’s emergence. Lucifer himself has no desire to have a servant grow out of his stomach like a six foot tall sunflower, so he isn’t taking any chances around those seeds.

 

“A _noco_ bride!” Lucifer exclaims. “Well, you know what to do then—divest me, Brother!” He flops back and flings his wings wide.

 

The laughter continues as Amenadiel patiently plucks all the flowers from Lucifer’s wings and carefully unties the ribbons and berry garlands, taking great care not to pull Lucifer’s feathers.

 

Gradually, the laughter subsides, and Lucifer relaxes as Amenadiel strokes his feathers; he closes his eyes and breathes in the lavender.

 

“Feeling better now?”

 

Lucifer nods.

 

“Well enough to tell me why you fought with Gabriel?”

 

“It was just the same old drivel,” Lucifer sits up and shrugs dismissively. “He just caught me at a bad time, when I was already in a mood, that’s all.” He plucks a stalk of lavender and begins playing with the petals.

 

“Not his gambling debts again!” Amenadiel sighs. “Father will not be pleased! How much does he owe you?”

 

“Not a cent, Brother! I know better than to play with him! And Gabriel knows that I know his tricks, so he doesn’t want to play with me either, because I won’t let him win. He hides cards in his wings, and if anyone calls him out on it, he tries to cut them with his flight feathers. And when he plays that game with three walnut shells and a pea—you know, the one Uriel lost his palace playing twice because he couldn’t figure out the pattern—Gabriel hides the pea between his fingers, sometimes he uses a dab of sap to help it stick better, so the pea isn’t really under any of the shells at all. And if he tries to cut me again for saying so, I’ll make so many stars fall on his palace it’ll be reduced to a pile of broken glass and bent silver!”

 

“Gabriel isn’t going to cut you, Luci…”

 

“Oh, I know he isn’t!”

 

Yes, well…that’s all very interesting, Luci,” Amenadiel keeps his voice soft and soothing, and rests his hands placatingly on Lucifer’s shoulders, “and I promise I will be having another talk with Gabriel about his gambling very soon, so keep your stars in the sky where they belong, that way we can all enjoy their beauty, and let me take care of this. Now, you were telling me about why you quarreled at the party…”

 

“Oh, very well! I can see you’re determined to drag it out of me!” Lucifer sighs and continues toying with the lavender flower. “Feather-light, diamond-bright—that’s what most of our siblings think of me, Brother! Gabriel saw I was out of sorts tonight and wanted to make me feel worse. He said my annoyance at having so many want to groom my wings is all a pretense. Everyone knows how vain I am! He said he knows it’s only a matter of time before I succumb to flattery and allow someone else to do it, or someone will choose just the right moment when I’m mad at you, or you’re mad at me, and...and then you’ll be free to choose someone more dignified and worthy who will suit you better! Remiel and Uriel both idolize you, and Gabriel I think might even forsake his precious trumpet to preen with you. Well I’m just as good as they are, Brother! I’m an archangel; I am the Lightbringer, the Morning Star! And if you, the First and Foremost of God’s Angels, think me worthy, then what right have they to judge me unworthy? So, no, I will not send Gabriel a fruit basket, and you can’t make me!” Lucifer flings the lavender stalk away and folds his arms across his chest.

 

“Never mind about the fruit basket, Luci…”

 

“And I won’t send him nuts or flowers either! Gabriel may think me changeable, but I have made up my mind about this, and I will _not_ change it!” he adds with an emphatic nod.

 

 “Come here, little brother,” Amenadiel draws Lucifer’s head down to rest upon his shoulder, and his fingers begin a soothing glide through the layers of white feathers. “What Gabriel said was very hurtful and rude, and he had no business to say it. He was also very wrong. You are very worthy and I know of no other angel who suits me better,” he presses a kiss onto the top of Lucifer’s curly head. “Luci, if the sky was always a perfect, clear, cloudless blue, we would take it for granted, and soon become bored with it. I wouldn’t want that, I wouldn’t like it. I want to lay back and watch the clouds drifting by, to watch them shifting shapes that not everyone sees the same thing in. I want the pink and orange streaked sunsets and lavender and gold sunrises, the dazzle of stars against a dark sky, and the moon, crescent or whole, glowing softly silver. And even the stormy gray skies that herald rain, and the crash and flash of thunder and lightning. I want to feel the rain on my skin, whether it’s a delicate drizzle or a heavy downpour. And, remember, without the rain there would be no rainbows, Brother. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 

“That being with me is like the weather? And you like that? Because I keep you guessing?”

 

“Yes, and you make every day interesting and exciting and special, even when you’re being a brat.”

 

“But if I were good _all_ the time you would be bored, Brother! That would be like having a sky that is always blue.”

 

“Yes it would, but don’t take this as encouragement to misbehave more than you already do,” Amenadiel cautions. “I think we already have the right balance.”

 

“I do too,” Lucifer snuggles against his brother’s shoulder and lets his fingers swirl and trail lazily through dark feathers. “And they really are wrong about me, Brother, anyone who believes the things Gabriel said…about my wings…they don’t know me very well if they truly think that! _Ninim nenipa rolal venida polos nalosi_ ,” he whispers softly, “My wings want only your touch.”

 

 “You’re very young, Luci, are you sure?” Amenadiel asks gently.

 

“Yes, Ancient One, who is a full _eleven hours_ older than me,” Lucifer teases, “I am quite sure!” He flops onto his back, giggling, wiggling and wallowing in his bed of lavender. “And I am older than the sun, and the moon, and all of the stars that shine above us, older than the Earth, and everything that grows or dwells upon it, all the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea, even the sharks, and the giant thunder lizards Father is making…”

 

“And older than all the wine you drank tonight,” Amenadiel interjects. “You seem a little giddy, Luci, perhaps it’s finally reaching your head? Maybe it’s time for me to take you home to bed?”

 

“My bed is here, Brother—in the lavender, and I shall not rise from it until the silver coin of the moon is spent! And, yes, Brother, I am indeed older than the vines, the grapes, and the wine! My point is—”

 

“Oh, good, you do have one! I was starting to worry about that.”

 

“My point is, Brother,” Lucifer stops squirming and becomes fully serious, “I am old enough to know my own mind and my own wings.” As if on cue, the feathers give a sensual little quiver-fluff. “And I know that I am as acquainted with the rest of my siblings as I wish to be, in fact, some of them I would rather not know at all, but I know all of them well enough to know that I don’t want any of them to groom my wings, they can admire them all they like, I don’t mind that, but I only want to preen with you.”

 

“So be it then.” Amendiel leans down and brushes a few stray wispy curls away and solemnly kisses Lucifer’s brow.

 

Lucifer smiles and his wings light up the night as Amenadiel repeats his own words back to him: “ _Ninim nenipa rolal venida polos nalosi_.”

 

Lucifer’s wings rise to embrace his brother, and they settle down peacefully, fingers combing through feathers dark and light, as the night breeze caresses the lavender.

 

“Brother,” Lucifer says presently, “what color will the thunder lizard be?”

 

“The last I heard, Father was leaning towards grey.”

 

_“Grey?”_ Lucifer frowns. “But grey is so _boring!_ Brother, could you not suggest that it should be purple?”

 

“Um…Well…I think the idea is for it to be able to blend in more comfortably amongst its surroundings and not stand out.”

 

“But if the thunder lizard is to be to the trees as we are to blades of grass, Brother, will it not stand out no matter what color it is?”

 

“Well…Yes…I suppose that’s true…”

 

“Then you will suggest it?” Lucifer wheedles, swirling his fingers through Amenadiel’s feathers.

 

“Um…No…I…Luci, I just don’t think purple is the right color for a Brontosaurus, it seems…undignified.”

 

“Fine!” Lucifer bolts up and brings his fingers together to form a steeple. “Then I shall pray to Father myself for a purple thunder lizard!”

 

Amenadiel quickly grabs his wrists and pulls his hands apart. “Now, Luci, think about this for a moment—you’ve had quite a lot of wine tonight, and if you pray to Father now asking for a purple thunder lizard he might think…”

 

“Oh yes, the wine was rather purple-ish,” Lucifer nods gravely. “I’m glad you stopped me, Brother! Father would surely have thought the idea came from the wine instead of me.”

 

“It’s all right,” Amenadiel gently guides him to lie back down. Lucifer settles his head comfortably on his brother’s shoulder and his fingers dive into dark feathers again. “Just rest…” Amenadiel begins calmly caressing dark curls and white feathers, soothing Lucifer with every stroke, “and if you would think of colors, Brother…Perhaps it’s time to start thinking about what color of almonds you would like?”

 

“Oh yes!” Lucifer sighs. “That’s even better than a purple thunder lizard!”

 

“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow, after you’ve rested.” Amenadiel smiles up at the big silver coin of the moon. “A purple dinosaur!” He chuckles. “The things you do come up with, Luci!”

 

Becoming a preening pair requires no ceremony, party, or feast. The choice is made, consecrated and celebrated, in private. The announcement is made afterwards, with quiet dignity and the sharing of sugar-enrobed almonds, served simply in crystal dishes at the weekly family dinner in the Hall of Rejoicing, as a sweet promise of pure and divine devotion— _Volidil iala dolaz dazi jonadis calo dazi jarima,_ Together for both the bitter and the sweet.

 

The colors they chose to cover their almonds were lavender and silver, in memory of the moonlit night they spent in the field of lavender…and talk of grey vs. purple thunder lizards.

 

***

 

Lucifer tears his eyes away from the heart of the dancing flame and turns back to face his brother. He swallows hard, but nervousness still sticks like a lump of coal in his throat, so the long unspoken word comes out tremulous and hoarse.

 

_“Fetharsi.”_


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Amenadiel doesn’t hesitate or keep him waiting. He feels such joy, thankfulness, and relief; he’s finally broken through the wall of fire and ice protecting his brother’s heart.

 

_“Fetharsi.”_

 

Lucifer slips the silken robe from his shoulders and unfurls his wings.

 

_“Nalason,_ _lucifitas_ (Come, bright one)” Amenadiel holds out his hand. And, without hesitation, Lucifer takes it.

 

Lucifer’s head finds Amenadiel’s shoulder as naturally as a dove coming home to roost. It’s understood that preening will have to wait until after they’ve rested, they’re just too tired to begin the lengthy and intense, intricate and passionate process. For now, it’s enough to lay together, _nanisi-namadima,_ flesh and feathers. If their feathers were the same color, it would be impossible to tell where one set of wings began and the other ended, they’re arranged in such a beautiful, cozy rumpled mess, so they can fall asleep in a soft, warm nest of feathers.

 

“I forgive you if you need me to,” Lucifer whispers.

 

“Thank you,” Amenadiel says fervently and hugs his brother close, “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for a very long time.”

 

But there’s one question more that needs to be asked.

 

“Luci, are you ever going to tell me why you froze Hell?”

 

“I always thought the answer was rather obvious,” Lucifer chuckles.

 

“Oh, like not being able to see the forest for the trees.”

 

“Whatever do you mean? The forest _is_ the trees, Brother! But never mind! I’m too tired to talk about theoretical trees, or any other kind for that matter,” Lucifer yawns, “so I’ll just tell you and let you feel like a fool for not seeing it. _You_ can’t stop time in the celestial realms, but _I_ can freeze Hell!”

 

“Obviously!”

 

“Exactly! Now you’re getting it!”

 

“Um…Actually, I’m not.” Amenadiel admits.

 

Lucifer heaves an exasperated sigh. “I started the fight in the fish market on purpose…”

 

“Really? And I always thought you did it accidentally!” Amenadiel says sarcastically.

 

“No, Brother, I did it intentionally,” Lucifer admits. “Because we always fought before we made our peace. But we’d long lost the habit of it. I was hoping that maybe if we had a particularly spectacular brawl you’d say the word I couldn’t say. And at least when we fought you were holding me again. I wanted to say it, even though I was still mad at you, and thought I always would be, and that made me even more angry and confused. I felt like one of those sad, pathetic women, the kind who washes a man’s boots with her tears after he’s kicked her with them. But I wanted…I missed…I missed you, Brother. I missed laying my head on your shoulder when I went to sleep. That big bed was so empty, and you weren't there to hold me, and talk to me, and groom my wings. When I first arrived in Hell, I felt like I was in mourning, grieving a loss, and my anger kept shouting at me that I shouldn’t be, because of what you’d done to me, but I just wanted to lie in bed and cry, and not do anything at all. I was so angry and confused and miserable, and nothing I was feeling made any sense to me. And when I finally let the demons in to warm me, because I couldn’t bear the solitude any longer, I still felt lonely and cold. It didn’t help at all! I tried to convince myself it did, I told myself it _had_ to, but the discontent was still there beneath the distraction, and the pleasure was a pale ghost compared to the pain. I used to dream you were grooming my wings, and then I’d wake up and be so angry I’d shove and kick the demons out of my bed and scream and throw things at them. After that day in Naples…I _had_ to do something, so I decided to freeze Hell. Since I was banned from the Silver City, I couldn’t very well come to you; I needed you to come to me.”

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel sighs and shakes his head, “couldn’t you have just asked?”

 

“I was afraid you would say ‘no,’” Lucifer says, soft and sulky.

 

“Have I ever said ‘no’ to you?”

 

“Yes, many times! Do you want me to make a list?”

 

“You know that isn’t what I mean! Lucifer, do you realize you created a serious administration problem with all those damned souls piling up like firewood?”

 

“Well you should have come sooner!”

 

“I would if you had asked me! Luci, I was busy!”

 

“Too busy for me apparently!” Lucifer huffs.

 

“No! Luci, I once let go of a lion’s jaws and left Daniel, an eighty-eight year old man, alone and defenseless, in the lion’s den because you prayed to me, so _why_ would you even think I wouldn’t come if you asked me to? I didn’t even know that you’d frozen Hell until it had been that way for a month and Father sent me…”

 

“Oh yes, you’d come because Father sent you, not because I asked you to!”

 

“But you didn’t ask me!” Amenadiel exclaims.

 

“I froze Hell for you!” Lucifer counters.

 

“Thank you!”

 

“You’re welcome! Dearie me, most people would prefer the grand gesture, but not you, you’d rather have an engraved invitation!”

 

“At least the meaning of an invitation is clear!”

 

“Are you implying that the Devil freezing Hell is an ambiguous gesture?”

 

“Oh, I’m not implying it, Luci, I’m _saying_ it!”

 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Lucifer shrugs, nestling deeper into dark feathers, “so there’s no use arguing about it! It didn’t work! You were so angry when you arrived, and I had been waiting weeks in the freezing cold…I lost my nerve…I couldn’t say it! I was too afraid you wouldn’t say it back, because I didn’t when you did, and then you stopped trying…”

 

“I’m sorry, Brother, truly I am. I assure you, it is one of my greatest regrets that I missed that chance, and by the time I realized it, it was too late. I was tired and angry, I’d had so much to deal with—Father sent me back to the fish market to make reparation, and I had to fend off Caravaggio’s advances, and then there was Uriel to deal with, and Mom and Dad feuding…I’ll tell you all about it someday when we’re not so tired and maybe can find the grace to laugh about it. I think you’ll like the story about the 600 pound witch. But by the time I got to Hell I was exhausted! Luci, I am so sorry, I let frustration and fatigue blind me! I should have dealt gently with you, Brother, instead of taking my anger out on you.”

 

“Damn right you should have!” Lucifer agrees, unable to suppress a smile, but then his voice goes soft and serious again. “I took your anger as clear and certain proof that you didn’t love me anymore, at least not enough to want to groom my wings or for me to groom yours!” He doesn't tell his brother that he spent the next several days naked and drunk in a puppy pile of demons trying to forget. “I’ve never frozen Hell for anyone else, though I did offer to do it for the Detective so she could sleep with me. Though I’ve never understood why that should be a requirement…But that was back when she thought I was delusional and didn’t believe I really was the Devil, though I told her so numerous times.”

 

“I agree, that is puzzling, Chloe doesn’t seem to be the type of woman who would require such an extravagant gesture. Luci, are you sure you understood her correctly? I mean she did refuse your gift of a car, and in view of that, to require you to freeze Hell before bestowing her sexual favors…it just seems uncharacteristically demanding and excessive. And she did sleep with you the night before she left, presumably without requiring you to freeze…” Amenadiel gasps. “Luci! _Please,_ tell me you didn’t…Hell hasn’t been frozen all this time has it?”

 

“Oh no, Brother! I was too spent, and she didn’t even ask me to. And even if she had…I was too weak, I couldn’t have done it. Human memories are not like ours, so perhaps she forgot.”

 

“Let’s hope so! But if you _really_ must, Luci, _please,_ I implore you, just for a few minutes, or an hour tops!”

 

“You have my word, Brother.”

 

“Thank you,” Amenadiel gathers his brother close and strokes his feathers. “And thank you for thinking I was worth freezing Hell for; I’m sorry I didn’t understand what it meant. I never stopped loving you, Luci, not even in the hottest heat of my anger, or the deepest depths of my pain. I would have groomed your wings when I first came to visit you in Hell if you had let me, I wanted to...”

 

“The demons would have peeped; I would have had to freeze Hell every time!” Lucifer says petulantly.

 

“Brother, the one thing Hell has is doors,” Amenadiel gently reminds him.

 

“It doesn’t matter! They would have found a way to watch us, through cracks in the walls or keyholes! They don’t understand the Act of Love, Brother, but they’re fascinated by it, and anything to do with our wings. When they saw me dreaming—dreaming that you were grooming my wings—to their eyes I appeared in the throes of ecstasy, except I wasn’t aroused. They didn’t understand. They can’t. Maze thought my penis was broken and tried to fix it, and I nearly ripped her arm off, it was dangling by a thread of skin, and my flight feathers sliced Abraxas clean in half. Even though it was only a dream, I was outraged by such an inappropriate intrusion.”

 

“I can well imagine! I would have been too! But…Poor Maze! Though I can’t honestly say that I’m sorry about Abraxas; I never liked him.”

 

“He sewed himself back together, Brother, and even as he was stitching he begged to lick the blood from my wings. I kicked his teeth in just for asking, and for looking at my wings like that.”

 

“You had every reason to feel affronted. And I like him even less now. But it doesn’t matter; we would have found a way, _Jonomi Videz_ —Old Scratch.” And, to Lucifer’s delight, Amenadiel gives his back an affectionate scratch in _exactly_ the right spot, where his wings join his back and tiny little feathers are always tickling him as they grow in, making the skin itch terribly. When the demons saw Lucifer rubbing his back against the walls and chains of Hell trying to get some relief, they thought they were being original and clever when they dubbed their new king “Old Scratch,” never realizing that he’d already had the nickname for eons, and that it was given not out of mockery but love.

 

“Sleep now, Brother, and I’ll groom your wings when you wake.”

 

“And I yours,” Lucifer promises.

 

And they sleep, nestled in feathers, peacefully and lovingly entwined and untroubled by nightmares, watched over by Nectanebo's lascivious baboon.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

It’s been so long since they’ve preened it’s insanely intense. They fall and catch so many times it takes hours to groom even the back of one wing, and they spend the next three days lying languid and limp in a heap of shivering, quivering feathers, stopping only to share wine and olives, and to sleep in a warm and sated, blissful, boneless collapse from which all nightmares are banished. They lay together for hours with their wings overlapping, the way they used to do, and talk or just enjoy the silent, loving communion.

 

Afterwards, still in a state of lovely exhaustion, delightfully weak from all the delicious tremors, they rise and go to Lucifer’s Hills estate for a change of scene, to spend a few days lying by the pool, soaking up the sun. The whole Sinnerman debacle that played out there, and the tongue-lashing Chloe gave him as a result, left bad associations clinging to the very walls, and Lucifer has been contemplating selling the place. But it’s such a grand spot for nude sunbathing, and to stretch out their wings and let them dry in the sun—something an angel rarely has the privacy to do in this increasingly crowded world—that he ultimately decides to redecorate instead, possibly in an Egyptian inspired motif with hieroglyphic carved stone walls and statues, sans cat goddesses of course. Maybe they’ll take a trip to Cairo to do some shopping.

 

They go back to the Atlantic City Boardwalk and stay in a hotel shaped like an elephant, to celebrate that there is no longer an elephant in the room between them. And, to their immense delight, discover that Fralinger’s now has over _fifty_ flavors of saltwater taffy, including chocolate sealed and filled center varieties. The lemon with the raspberry jelly center is just divine! And, yes, they still have teaberry! They ride the Ferris wheel twenty-six times for old times’ sake, and arrange to have a quantity of all the flavors shipped back to LA.

 

They throw a taffy party at the penthouse and everyone has a wonderful time trying all the different flavors. Even Maze is invited. Lucifer is in a forgiving mood and consents to receive the demon back into his good graces.

 

When the party is winding down, Lucifer and Amenadiel get into a heated argument about the difference between peppermint, wintergreen, and spearmint, and everyone decides it’s best to leave and let them settle this on their own. All except Maze—she has a good idea where this is heading, so she stuffs a handful of assorted taffy flavors into her mouth, without even bothering to remove the wax paper, grabs the nearest vodka bottle, and hunkers down, ready to watch. Word gets around between Heaven and Hell, and she’s heard all the rumors about Lucifer and Amenadiel, and what supposedly happened between them before the Rebellion. And, like all demons, she has an insatiable curiosity about the angelic Act of Love and has always wanted to see it; she doesn’t understand how they get off without even getting turned on. But the look Lucifer flashes her makes it clear that isn’t going to happen, and she sullenly snatches up her leather jacket, grabs a bowl of taffy, and stalks out.

 

Lucifer and Amenadiel are shouting at each other about essential oils and levels of menthol. Dan is torn between running to the elevator and being a nice guy, but finally he steps between them.

 

“Guys, isn’t it enough that they’re all in the mint family? Can’t you just agree on that?”

 

“Actually they’re not,” Amenadiel says, “wintergreen is a member of the Gaultheria family, so it isn’t technically a mint at all.”

 

“Exactly!” Lucifer nods emphatically.

 

“Whatever!” Dan gives up. “If you want to kill each other over this, be my guest. I’m outta here!” he says and heads for the elevator.

 

He’s sitting at a red light when he realizes he left his phone and the goody bag for Trixie on the bar and that, as much as he hates to, he’ll have to go back. He really needs his phone. Chloe calls every night to talk to Trixie; if she can’t reach him she’ll be worried.

 

Everything is quiet in the penthouse, and there’s no sign of Lucifer or Amenadiel. Dan quickly grabs his phone and the bag of taffy, hoping to slip out again unnoticed.

 

“JESUS!” he shouts, dropping both the taffy and his phone, and grasping his chest like someone suffering a heart attack.

 

“Certainly not!” Lucifer haughtily replies.

 

He’s standing there stark naked wearing a pair of big white cos-play wings, really expensive ones by the look of them, with LED lights hidden underneath the feathers to make them glow. He has a bottle of wine in one hand and a bowl of olives in the other. Dan is struck by how happy and relaxed Lucifer looks, and it doesn’t seem to be the result of drugs. He’s like…glowing—literally and in the romance novel way.

 

Dan quickly picks up his phone, luckily it doesn’t seem to be broken, and scoops the spilled taffy back into the sack.

 

Lucifer cocks his head, regarding him curiously. Dan seems unaccountably flustered. He’s clumsier than usual and his face looks very red.

 

“Sorry, man, I…uh…didn’t mean to interrupt your… um…whatever!” He giggles nervously. “Wow, you must really be into cos-play! I…uh…really needed my phone. I…um…sorry…I didn’t know you had company.”

 

“Only Amenadiel,” Lucifer says.

 

“Oh, so you didn’t kill each other over the mint thing. That’s nice!”

 

“No, we just like to quarrel about inconsequential things before engaging in the divine Act of Love, we always have.”

 

Dan drops his phone and the taffy again.

 

Lucifer just stares. Could this be the onset of a neurological disease, something impairing hand-eye coordination? Maybe he should offer to have a private plane fly Dan to the Mayo Clinic? Or perhaps it’s merely the sight of his wings that’s befuddling Dan, or his mentioning the divine Act of Love. Humans never do understand!

 

“Luci, is everything all right?” Amenadiel calls out from the shadowy depths of the penthouse. “You didn’t forget to order more olives, did you?”

 

“Fear not, Brother, we have plenty of olives, and wine too!” Lucifer calls back. “I’ll be with you in a moment! Dan’s here, he forgot his phone and the treats for the child!” Then he turns back to Dan, he’s fumbling with his phone and has spilled the taffy again. “Are you quite all right, Daniel? Do you need help?”

 

“Oh, uh…no…I…I’m…uh…I’m fine, man!” Dan quickly assures him with another nervous laugh, stuffing his phone firmly in his pocket and gripping the taffy sack with a firm fist. “Yeah…um…I’ll see you later. I’ve got to get home!”

 

“Very well. Good night, Daniel.”

 

“Nite, man! Oh…um…nice wings!” he adds as the elevator doors start to close.

 

“Thank you, Daniel,” Lucifer smiles, “I’ve often been told so.”

 

Just before the steel halves meet Dan catches a glimpse of long, fringy white feathers jiggling over Lucifer’s bare ass. Damn, those wings look real! It’s like they’re actually growing out of Lucifer’s back! He must have spent at least a couple grand on them!

 

***

 

Things are going very well. Making peace with his brother and being preened regularly again makes Lucifer happier, calmer, and more relaxed than he’s been in a very long time. And then disaster strikes.

 

Snooping around Chloe’s bedroom, Maze finds Lucifer’s shirt, and brings it back to the penthouse.

 

Amenadiel sees the wad of blue fabric in her hand and heads her off before she reaches Lucifer’s bedroom.

 

“Maze, you have to take that back right now!” He insists, his voice soft and deadly serious. “Put it back where you found it, and don’t say anything about it!”

 

“Why? It’s Lucifer’s!” Maze says. “I found it in Decker’s bedroom. Did they bone?”

 

Amenadiel grabs her arm and starts tugging her towards the elevator.

 

“Just do as I ask— _Please!_ Take it back now, put it back _exactly_ where you found it, and don’t say anything about it. Just…leave it alone!”

 

“They did! Didn’t they? They boned!” Maze crows gleefully. “Is that why Decker ran away? Too hot in the Devil’s bed for her?” She yanks her arm away from Amenadiel and heads for Lucifer’s bedroom. “I need details!”

 

_“No!”_ Amenadiel stations himself between her and the marble steps and spreads his wings to bar her path.

 

“Out of my way, bird boy!”

 

_“Please, Maze!_ This is important!” he says, low and urgent, glancing back over his shoulder quickly to ascertain that Lucifer hasn’t come out of the shower yet. “If you won’t do it because I asked you to, then do it for Lucifer. _Please!”_

 

The sense of urgency finally penetrates and Maze backs off.

 

“Okay! Whatever!” she shrugs. “I’ll put it back!”

 

But it’s too late. She’s just walking away when Lucifer appears at the top of the steps in his robe and recognizes the blue shirt clutched in her hand.

 

“Maze! Wait! That’s the shirt Chloe borrowed, isn’t it?”

 

“Luci…”

 

With a sigh of defeat, Amenadiel folds away his wings, and steps aside.

 

Lucifer descends the steps and takes the shirt from Maze. He holds it to his nose and sniffs Chloe’s natural scent, his own body wash, and…something more…fear sweat.

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel puts a consoling hand on his back. “It may not be what you think…”

 

“She didn’t take it with her,” Lucifer says, hurt and bewildered. Tears fill his eyes. He’s thinking about Chloe’s own discarded shirt tucked under his pillow right now. He even took it with him to the Hills estate and Atlantic City. But she…she left his behind. This must mean…

 

“It was in her bedroom, hanging over the back of a chair,” Maze volunteers.

 

“Luci, this doesn’t mean...”

 

Lucifer shrugs off his brother’s hands and heads straight to the bar.

 

“Hey, Lucifer, listen…” Maze starts.

 

“Just take it back where you found it, please,” Amenadiel cuts her off. “Chloe left it there, for whatever reason, and it’s not for you to give it back to him, it’s for her to do.”

 

“Okay,” Maze agrees and takes the elevator down.

 

“Lucifer…” Amenadiel goes to his brother, standing at the bar, seemingly determined to drain a bottle of vodka in one swallow. “This may not mean anything! Maybe she was in a hurry, or distracted, she had so much on her mind, Brother, maybe she took the shirt off to take a shower and just forgot and left it there. Maybe she meant to take it with her. We don’t know, and we won’t know until…”

 

“Until she rejects me, Brother, the same way she rejected my shirt!” Lucifer slams the empty bottle down and grabs another. “She didn’t want it near her! She didn’t want it on her skin! Just like she doesn’t want me!”

 

“You don’t know that, Luci!”

 

“Yes, yes, I do! I could smell the fear on it! I’m the Devil! She’ll never accept me for all that I am! Get out of my way, Brother!” His eyes flash fire and he pushes past Amenadiel and jabs the elevator button.

 

“Luci, where are you going? Luci! Lucifer!”

 

The twin halves of the steel doors shut before Amenadiel can get a grip on them. He has to wait for the elevator to come back. When it does, he finds his brother’s robe and black silk boxer shorts on the floor. He quickly gets in and takes the lift down to Lux.

 

Standing at the top of the stairs stark naked, Lucifer stares through the shimmer of tears down at the club packed with beautiful bodies. He drains the vodka bottle then tosses it away.

 

“ANYONE WHO WANTS ME CAN HAVE ME!” he shouts.

 

Every eye turns in his direction. Within seconds, bodies throng the stairs, jostling and shoving each other, hands reaching out. All of them want Lucifer, even if Chloe Decker doesn’t.

 

And then time slows to a sluggish crawl, the arms reaching out for him seem like they’re swimming in syrup.

 

Amenadiel grabs Lucifer around the waist and pulls him back into the elevator.

 

“Lucifer! No! I’m not going to let you do this! Not like this!”

 

Back in the penthouse, with the elevator docked for the night, it takes hours of patient talking and wing stroking to calm Lucifer down, to help him blindly flail and find his way through this dark night of the soul.

 

“Brother, _please,_ stop torturing yourself! The truth is we don’t know if Chloe’s leaving the shirt behind means anything at all, and until we do…You can’t let it tear you apart like this! You may be worrying for nothing! She could have simply just forgotten it. Maybe when she was halfway to the cabin, or already there, she realized she’d left it, but it was too late, and too long a drive to go back…”

 

“She could have had Daniel send it by Federal Express or United Parcel Service, or even the United States Postal Service! She could have had it rushed—overnighted!”

 

“Well, she might not have felt comfortable asking anyone to do that, Brother. Whoever she asked would be certain to ask questions—questions she wasn’t ready to answer yet, questions she might not be able to answer yet. They might leap to conclusions that would make her feel pressured, pushed and rushed into something she might not be ready to embrace just yet. Just like Maze did; she came here wanting details. And you told me how enthusiastic Miss Lopez was about Chloe and Cain being a couple…To be honest, some of it sounded rather pushy and presumptuous, though I’m sure Miss Lopez meant well. But I don’t think Chloe would want to go through that again anytime soon. After what happened with Cain, I think Chloe will feel the need to tread more cautiously, to take any relationship slowly, and you need to understand and respect that and be very patient with her, Luci. And I know you can do that, Brother, it’s the same lessons angels learn from the Act of Love, just applied, for the benefit of a human, in a different fashion.”

 

Lucifer pulls the bullet-torn white knit shirt out from under his pillow. “I kept hers!”

 

“I know, and it has brought you comfort, and it can still. Just because Chloe didn’t do the same doesn’t mean she’s rejecting you, Luci.”

 

“She rejected my shirt!”

 

“A piece of woven cloth with buttons sewn on it, Brother, not a living, thinking, feeling soul and beating heart! I really think rejection is too strong a word...”

 

“You kept my preening stone, even after I was gone!” Lucifer sobs. “A stone! That’s not even soft and intimate like a shirt! Yet you kept it for _thousands_ of years!”

 

“Luci, that’s different. You’re my brother, we’re _vasiminip-pala,_ and we’ve been together practically our whole lives. Even when we’ve been apart for long stretches I’ve always kept you in my heart, and I have many things of yours. I even have the Caravaggio the Nazis intended to burn rather than let anyone else have it.”

 

“You do?” Lucifer sits up in surprise. “Which one? I thought you hated them!”

 

“I hated the way Caravaggio treated you, Brother, not his art, some of it is very powerful and very fine. I have the one he called _Awakening Angel,_ the wings are all wrong of course, they’re nothing like yours, but it reminded me of how you always looked when you dragged yourself so reluctantly out of bed every morning, and I wanted to have it, it made me happy to see you that way again, not just in my memory’s eye. But my point is—compared to the time we have had, your time with Chloe is just beginning, and you can’t always draw a parallel between possessions and feelings. If I had to choose between you and all those things, I would surrender every one of them in less time than it takes the heart to beat. And I’m here with you right now, and all those things—except for the preening stone, which I’m accustomed to carrying in my pocket—are in my palace in the Silver City. Just because I left them behind obviously doesn’t mean I left you, or that I don’t love you. Now does it?”

 

Lucifer sits quietly, nibbling his lower lip, pondering this as tears continue to drip from his eyes.

 

“Luci,” Amenadiel reaches out and cups his brother’s face between his hands, letting his thumbs brush away the tears, “all this means is that Chloe left the shirt she borrowed from you in her apartment. We don’t know why, or if she even intended to. We don’t know if this means anything in relation to her feelings at all. We simply don’t know! But I do know, whatever she decides about a romantic relationship, you are more important to her than any shirt. We’ll just have to go on waiting, giving her the time she needs, and see what happens. She’ll tell you in her own time, when she’s ready, and not a second sooner. And it will do you no good to obsess about this; it won’t make whatever is going to happen happen any sooner, it will only make you feel worse—more nervous and anxious, and your nightmares will come back. I know it’s going to be hard, but will you at least try not to worry about the shirt, Brother? And just think, if it does indeed turn out to mean nothing, look at the time and tears you’ve spent worrying about it already.”

 

Lucifer nods, “very well, Brother, I promise, I’ll try.” He rolls onto his side and starts to lie down, then glances over his shoulder at Amenadiel. “Will you put your wings around mine, Brother? Hold me until I fall asleep?”

 

“Of course, I will, Luci,” Amenadiel settles with his wings and his arms around his brother. “It’s always darkest before the dawn, things will look brighter tomorrow.”


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next few days really are better. Lucifer is back on a more even keel. Talking with Dr. Linda also helps reassure him that maybe the shirt is not as important as it first appeared, and Lucifer and Amenadiel return to the Hills estate and spend the weekend by the pool soaking up the sun.

 

Lucifer is doing so well by Monday night that Amenadiel decides it’s safe to leave him and go to his Farm Animal Painting class. He’s really excited; tonight’s the night he’ll learn whether he’ll be painting pictures _on_ farm animals or _of_ them. Lucifer is curious too, and asks him to send a quick text—on or of—as soon as he finds out.

 

He leaves Lucifer settled comfortably on the couch, in his black satin pajama bottoms and robe, with a big bowl of taffy beside him, planning to spend a quiet evening reading “the frog-kissing book the Urchin gave me.”

 

Curiously, Lucifer doesn’t respond to his text, but Amenadiel isn’t too alarmed. Maybe he just dozed off over his book, or was in another room when the text came and didn’t hear it beep or check his phone when he came back.

 

When he comes home, after stopping to have coffee and cinnamon rolls with some of his classmates, he walks into a wild party. Lights are flashing, music is blaring. The penthouse is packed with people—dancing, drinking, doing drugs, and each other. There are bodies writhing, upright and horizontally, all over the place. The orgy is in full swing.

 

Both sets of twins—the candy-stripers and the nurses—are on the bed with Lucifer. The floor beside it is littered with empty pill and liquor bottles and Lucifer’s favorite devil red condoms, lying scattered about like long slick red slugs, and there are drugs, more bottles, and sex toys crowding both nightstands.

 

With a deep sigh, Amenadiel forces himself to stay calm and remember to be very patient. He reminds himself that old habits die hard; this is what Lucifer habitually does when he’s upset. Something terrible must have happened in the hours since he left to trigger this reaction. Maybe he heard from Chloe? If so, it must have been very bad news, or else Lucifer interpreted it as such.

 

Lucifer is busily thrusting into one of the strawberry blonde twins. When the other twin, and the brunette set, catch sight of Amenadiel their eyes light up and they reach out to pull him onto the bed. He struggles to free himself as three sets of eager hands reach for the front of his pants. He finally manages to shake them off and pull himself up.

 

“Party’s over!” he announces. And when everyone ignores him, he shouts it even louder. “THE PARTY IS OVER! TURN OFF THE MUSIC! EVERYBODY OUT! AND TAKE THE DRUGS WITH YOU! NOW!”

 

The music abruptly dies and people start filing out, pausing only to give Amenadiel angry looks and call him a variety of names indicating that they resent his spoiling their fun.

 

He reaches down and pulls Lucifer off Mindy or Mandy—he doesn’t know which one she is and doesn’t really care. She gives a disappointed shriek of protest and tries to pull Lucifer back onto, and into, her, but Amenadiel keeps a firm grip on him.

 

Lucifer, surprisingly, doesn’t even resist. Except for his devil red latex covered erection, he sags heavy and limp in his brother’s arms. His pupils are completely blown; Amenadiel can’t even see his dark chocolate brown irises. The skin around his eyes is red, puffed, and swollen; he’s obviously been crying. His skin is slick and reeking of sweat and sex, and he’s covered in smears of bright red lipstick. There’s a glitter-paint silver heart on one of his hips, a peace sign on the other, and a few stars upon his stomach. By the number of used condoms, he’s had quite a busy night, and he’s taken enough drugs and alcohol to at least temporarily numb him.

 

“Hello, Brother,” he slurs. “Come to join the party?”

 

“The party is over, Luci.” Amenadiel takes great care to keep his voice soft and gentle. Even though he’s made the mistake many times out of sheer anger and frustration, he knows shouting at Lucifer isn’t the best approach. “Ladies get up, get your clothes on, and get out, quickly please. My brother isn’t feeling well, and I need to take care of him. Thank you!”

 

“Do you want me to call Dr. Wunderbar?” one of the brunette twins asks.

 

“Hell, no!” Amenadiel all but shouts.

 

Lucifer wriggles out of Amenadiel’s grasp and crawls to the center of the bed where he curls up in a miserable groaning, whimpering ball.

 

Amenadiel hurries the remaining stragglers out. And once he’s made sure the apartment is empty, and no one is hiding anywhere, he comes back.

 

“Luci?” Amenadiel shakes his shoulder gently. “Luci! What happened? What’s wrong? Why did you decide to have a party, Brother? I thought you were going to spend the evening reading.”

 

“I finished the book!” Tears start to stream from Lucifer’s eyes and his bottom lip quivers uncontrollably.

 

Amenadiel glances over at the sofa and sees the innocuous looking little paperback lying on the floor beside it.

 

“I want someone who will love me forever!” Lucifer wails and then, as sobs convulse him, he starts babbling hysterically. Amenadiel only manages to catch the occasional word—abandon, love, leave, immortal, human, sick, old, Chloe, death, hurt, and possibly something about graveyards and toads—alternating with the plaintive wail “I finished the book!”

 

“Luci, slow down, and calm down, I can’t understand you. If I can’t understand you, I can’t help you, Brother.”

 

“I finished the book!” Lucifer wails.

 

“I’m not surprised, it doesn’t appear to have that many pages, and I believe it is intended for children in the eight to ten age range.”

 

Lucifer huddles on the bed, wracked by violent sobs, and shakes his head despairingly. “You don’t understand!”

 

“I will,” Amenadiel promises “it just may take a little while, but we’ll figure it out. First, let’s get you cleaned up, a shower will make you feel better, and then, when you’re calmer, you can explain it to me again. Or maybe I should just read the book? But, shower first! Come on now, up we go!” he urges and half lifts Lucifer off the bed and begins guiding him gently towards the bathroom.

 

Lucifer collapses crying on the rug, and Amenadiel has to pick him up and put him in the shower.

 

Lucifer keeps sobbing hysterically about finishing the book, wanting someone to love him forever, sickness and senior citizens, graveyards, immortal toads, and Chloe leaving him. He’s so upset he can’t take in what Amenadiel is telling him, so trying to calm him down is harder than usual. As large as Lucifer’s bathroom is, the shower isn’t the best place to stroke his wings, especially when he’s impaired by drugs and might not be able to control how far or forcefully he spreads them, and that could cause some serious damage. The drugs are still muddling his mind, and Lucifer mistakes the lipstick on his body for blood and begins crying that his heart is bleeding because it hurts so much. In the end, Amenadiel has to strip off his clothes, get in the shower, and scrub the lipstick off Lucifer. Then he mistakes the silver glitter paint trailing wetly down his thighs for stardust and starts crying because he misses his stars.

 

“Well there’s no reason why we can’t go up and see them one night,” Amenadiel offers, but Lucifer can’t stop crying.

 

Lucifer is such an emotional wreck that even though he hates to do it, Amenadiel finally has to turn the hot water off and let the cold fall full blast on Lucifer.

 

Lucifer sinks his teeth into Amenadiel’s shoulder, every tooth drawing blood, and throws everything he can reach at his brother, but after that he starts to settle down.

 

***

 

Lucifer docilely lays his head in his brother’s lap and dozes, while Amenadiel strokes his wings and reads _Tuck Everlasting_ , the better to understand why such an innocent looking little book triggered such a major upset.

 

Understanding comes quickly. It’s the story of a ten-year-old girl encountering a family of immortals, made so by a mysterious woodland spring, and being dazzled by the youngest son, forever seventeen. He asks her to drink of the same water in seven years when she attains the same age. But his father’s wise words about the wheel of life, forever turning, passing the time-frozen Tuck family by, make an even greater impression than the first stirrings of infatuation. She chooses not to drink, to let the wheel of her own life keep turning, she grows up, marries, bears children, grows old, and dies, the way all mortals are meant to. The way Chloe Decker eventually will too.

 

Amenadiel lays the book on the table beside the bed.

 

Lucifer is still dozing, sniffle-snoring-purring in his sleep, as his brother’s hand soothingly strokes his feathers.

 

***

 

A lively blue-green crab that seemed to always be dancing first taught Lucifer about death. Lucifer used to look for it every time they went to the beach. It always made him smile. One day he found the shattered remains of its shell beside a rock. A seabird must have seized it in its beak and dropped it from a great height, aiming at the rock, to break the hard shell and reach the meat inside.

 

Amenadiel held his little brother and rocked him while he cried. When Lucifer was calm enough, he gently explained their father’s plan for the lifespan of all Earth’s creatures.

 

“The lives of all creatures are like a wheel always spinning round, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but never stopping, until they reach the end of their journey. And then, those they leave behind continue on without them, to the end of their own journeys, and life goes on, never ending, never stopping, the wheel always turning. If they never died, the world would soon be such a terribly crowded place, there would be no joy or wonder in it. Take the crabs that dwell here by the sea, if they never died, the shore would soon be so thick with them we would not be able to see the sand beneath them. So Father gives them each a season, to be born, to live, to love, to breed, to enjoy the blessings they are given, and then, when the time comes, to die.”

 

“But it will not be that way for us, Brother?” Lucifer asks.

 

“No, _lucifitas_ , we are angels, our lives are eternal, only Hell steel, if it bites deep enough and a divine remedy is not swiftly rendered, can end our existence.”

 

“You’ll be very careful, Brother?” Lucifer asks anxiously. “I don’t want you to leave me and stop loving me.”

 

“I will always love you,” Amenadiel promises. “Love doesn’t cease to exist just because life does. You’re an angel, Luci, you carry the love you’re given always in your wings, and in your heart. My love will always be with you,” he strokes the wind-ruffled white feathers, “even if I’m not, I will never leave you, Luci.”

 

“But you will be very careful of Hell steel, Brother?” Lucifer frowns worriedly. “I would much rather have you here to love me than to have to make do with memories.”

 

“I promise,” Amenadiel nods, “I will be very careful, Luci. I would not be parted from you for the world.”

 

“Nor I you, Brother.”

 

“Come,” Amenadiel stands and raises Lucifer with him, “the wind off the sea is getting cold, you’re shivering already.” He wraps a protective arm around Lucifer’s shoulders.

 

Lucifer stands for a moment staring down at the broken fragments of blue-green shell.

 

“Poor crab! Brother, will his consort and hatchlings not be alarmed when he doesn’t appear in the banquet hall tonight? Shall they come and search and find his remnants lying here and weep and mourn? Perhaps we should stay to give what comfort we can? I can bear the cold for that.”

 

Amenadiel pauses uncertainly. “I…don’t think crabs lead such domesticated lives, Luci, I think perhaps they’re more…solitary in nature.”

 

“You mean he will pass unremarked, there will be no one to mourn him?”

 

“You, an archangel, have mourned him. Not every crab has that honor, Luci. Come now, we can go to the Hall of Knowledge, there may be a scroll about the domestic habits of crabs, and you may find it reassuring.”

 

***

 

Lucifer stirs, sits up, and stretches.

 

“I messed up; didn’t I?” he asks warily.

 

“This is still new to you, Brother. It isn’t easy for anyone, mortal or celestial, to unlearn old and well-established behaviors, Luci. That’s why those who try to stop smoking or drinking, or to lose weight, struggle so hard. They all suffer the occasional setback, especially at first, or during times of emotional upheaval. You need to understand that sex isn’t the answer, and neither are drugs and alcohol. They may help mask a problem, but they won’t solve it, or make it disappear. When you’re upset, you need to talk to someone about it, someone who cares and wants to help you, someone like me, Linda, or Chloe. And,” he adds gently, “I don’t know if you realize this, but…you can’t give your heart to Chloe and your body to everyone else, Brother. If you and Chloe have a relationship, she will surely expect physical fidelity.”

 

“I know,” Lucifer says quietly. “But I can do that. You don’t believe I can?” he asks anxiously.

 

“I know you can,” Amenadiel assures him. “I remember very well in the Silver City when everyone—everyone except us—thought your vanity would eventually succumb to flattery and you would allow someone else to groom your wings, but you never did.”

 

“I never have.” Lucifer lays his head back down and Amenadiel resumes stroking his wings.

 

“Neither have I.”

 

“No? I felt certain as soon as I was gone…Remiel, Uriel, and Gabriel would fly straight to your side.”

 

“Just because they were interested doesn’t mean I was. We were still _vasiminip-pala,_ your absence, and becoming the Devil, didn’t change that, Luci, and neither of us ever asked Father for a dissolution.”

 

“I never thought of it,” Lucifer shrugs and smiles.

 

“Neither did I,” Amenadiel smiles back.

 

“Brother…it will be like the book won’t it? For Chloe…and me?”

 

Amenadiel hesitates.

 

“Chloe is a miracle, but we don’t know what that means, Luci, we just have to have faith that in the end everything will be all right. It would be giving you false hope, and wrong, to tell you to expect a different outcome. But if Father intends her life to follow the normal human course, then…yes, death will eventually take her from you.”

 

Amenadiel knows that this will not be easy for Lucifer. Lucifer has seen sudden and unexpected death, but he’s never watched someone he loves grow old, wither, and die, charting the natural course God intended for humanity.

 

“She may leave me long before that, we may never be together. Like the little girl in the book…She may want…someone she can grow old with.”

 

“Luci, you can grow old with Chloe if you want to. Not physically, bur you _can_ love her and be there for her just the same as if you’re aging right along with her. It won’t be easy, for either of you. She will have to learn to trust the mirror of your eyes, which shine with love for her, more than she does the mirror on the wall. And you must look at her with same love you feel for her at 38 when she is 83. Just look at the light, the spirit, inside, not the flesh. No angel can see that light better than you can, Luci.”

 

Tears of hope and gratitude fill Lucifer’s eyes.

 

“I will, Brother,” he promises.

 

“Remember the words we spoke when we had our almonds? _Volidil iala dolaz dazi jonadis calo dazi jarima.”_

 

“Together for both the bitter and the sweet,” Lucifer translates.

 

“Words spoken from the heart, I meant them then and I mean them now. Whatever happens, with Chloe or…anything, I will be here for you, Brother.”

 

Lucifer smiles up at his brother. “And I you. We should have the almonds again, Brother.”

 

“We can, if you like.”

 

“I like.”


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

They’re at the Hills estate, lying by the pool, the water still damp upon their flesh and feathers, watching the stars fill the sky, when Chloe’s text finally comes.

 

It’s very direct and also very vague.

 

_Hi, Lucifer, can you come tomorrow?_

It gives no indication of her emotions or what she’s decided. Lucifer isn’t at all sure what it means, and the best translation Amenadiel can offer is that “she wants to see you tomorrow.”

 

Lucifer feels so nervous he can hardly think whether he should reply, “Very Well,” “Of Course,” or “Yes,” so he says all three, or tries to; he has such a bad case of fumble-fingers that Amenadiel finally has to type it for him, because the thought of keeping Chloe waiting makes him even more anxious.

 

_I’ll send directions._ Chloe replies. The directions appear in Lucifer’s inbox and then that’s it for the night.

 

She doesn’t respond to Lucifer’s _Thank you._

 

“Now, Brother, these are all very straightforward communications; don’t start reading more into them than they say,” Amenadiel advises.

 

“She’ll never be able to accept all that I am, Brother. Life isn’t like a fairy tale. 'Beauty and the Beast' is just a story, intended to give hope to all beasts, I suppose. But beauties always know they can do better. They never really love the beast, not for himself anyway, perhaps for his wealth and the favors he can give, but…that isn’t love.”

 

“There’s more to love than just an attractive façade, Brother.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head. “Christine always chooses handsome Raoul over the Phantom every time. Once the mask is ripped away, his devotion, his love, his gift of music and faith in her talent, no longer matter, only his hideous, scarred face. That’s all she sees.”

 

“If that is the case,” Amenadiel says, “I pray that he will someday see that he deserves better—someone who can see beyond the surface and give him the love that he deserves and needs.”

 

“If she loves me, she also has to love this.”

 

Lucifer’s form shifts and the flaming-eyed, burnt and flayed-skinned Devil stands naked and vulnerable beside the pool. After a moment, he turns away, hot tears sizzling against his furrowed cheeks. “I don’t believe that’s possible.”

 

 “But I do,” Amenadiel turns him around gently, takes his face between his palms, and plants a feather-light kiss upon Lucifer's burnt, crimson cracked lips. “But then perhaps I have more faith in love, to see most clearly even when blind, and to always see beneath the skin. Come, Brother. It’s getting late, and Chloe will be expecting you tomorrow, and you’ll want to look your best for her. Come in and let me groom your wings; it will help you rest better.”

 

Lucifer hangs back.

 

“Which face should I wear while you groom me, Brother?”

 

“That’s entirely up to you,” Amenadiel shrugs. “But I’m willing to wager you one gold jewel-festooned baboon that you cannot maintain your Devil Face throughout the divine Act of Love.”

 

Lucifer draws himself up indignantly. A smile twitches at his lips, and his true face shines through. “I refuse to make any wager involving that ghastly baboon!” he haughtily declares. He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his dark, damp hair. “Honestly, Brother, I don’t know what possessed you to buy that hideous thing!” he adds and stalks inside the house.

 

“Oh you don’t, do you?” chuckling, Amenadiel follows him inside. "I'm one of the very few people who can honestly say the Devil made me do it!"

 

***

 

The morning sun sneaks softly through the blue gingham curtains as Chloe shifts in her sleep and kicks away the covers. They slip soundlessly onto the floor. She lies on her back, her golden-brown hair tousled and spread across her pillow, blue sleep shirt riding up, no panties on, knees wide and halfway drawn, an open invitation he’s unable to resist. He creeps in, careful not to wake her, and crawls up, soft and slow, from the foot of the bed, and dips his head, planting a reverent, worshipful kiss between her legs.

 

Chloe moans and writhes as the kisses and the attention of his tongue grow more ardent.

 

“Oh! Lucifer!” she gasps.

 

He stops and lifts his head.

 

Chloe screams at the sight of that crispy red face and the forked red tongue flickering and wet with her own juices. She screams again and scrambles up, as far away from him as she can get, the weight of her back causing the headboard to groan and grate against the wall.

 

Her scream tears the fabric of the night and frightens away the owl perched in the tree outside her window. Chloe’s eyes snap open wide. She sits up, buries her face in her hands, and cries. She knows who she is and where she is, but she still feels utterly lost. Half the time she doesn’t know if it’s her knees trembling or the earth shaking under her feet. She just wants her life back from the thief who stole it.

 

***

 

The alarm begins to beep, and Lucifer burrows deeper into his brother’s feathers, hiding from the vexing sound.  Amenadiel’s hand flails out, poking through glowing white feathers, groping for the phone on the nightstand. He finds it and turns off the alarm.

 

Lucifer’s dark head nuzzles against his shoulder and he keeps his eyes shut tight.

 

“Luci, the purpose of the alarm is to tell you it’s time to get up,” Amenadiel reminds him gently, affectionately ruffling his brother’s hair.

 

“Do you think Chloe will let me cook breakfast for her?”

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

Lucifer sits up, both reluctant and excited, carefully disentangling their entwined feathers.

 

He hesitates, uncertainly.

 

“What the matter? Something’s worrying you, I can tell.”

 

Lucifer rolls over onto his stomach and his head finds Amenadiel’s shoulder again, and he feels the welcome, always wanted, scratch on his back.

 

“Brother, even if Chloe and I are together, will you still groom my wings?” he asks with a nervous tremor waving through the words.

 

“Of course I will,” Amenadiel promises. “I think Chloe understands as well as any human can that this is something you need. When we spoke of it, I sensed that this is something she wanted you to have.”

 

“I was always afraid, after Eve…every time you groomed me I was afraid it would be the last, that you might change your mind, because of the things others said. So I learned to live for the moment, because the moment may never come again.”

 

“I wish you had told me, Luci, I would have reassured you that you had nothing to fear. And you still don’t. Go on now,” he gives his little brother a gentle nudge, “you don’t want to miss breakfast.”

 

“ _Esiasch_ _tablior_ ,” Lucifer nestles for another moment and then gets up.

 

“Always,” Amenadiel says.

 

***

 

The sun is just creeping over the horizon when he arrives. The jade green water undulates gently in the still deep shadows of the pilings that make the cabin appear to be standing on stilts in the middle of the lake. Ferns, reeds, cattails, and the occasional large mica-rich boulder frame its border. The rising sun dapples the water with starbursts of light, and here and there a trout splashes. The water is cool and clear several feet down, and Lucifer can’t resist stripping and diving in. It’s early yet, he reasons, and Chloe will still be asleep. He must do something to fill the time.

 

He’s bored and wants to play, and a friendly fish obliges. The trout knows what he is, even with his wings tucked within his back, and has no fear of him. They play hide-and-seek darting and diving amongst the reeds. Before Lucifer climbs out of the lake, he takes a moment to hold the fish against his chest and unfurl and wrap his wings around him, so that the fish is, for one brilliant moment, surrounded by radiant light and feathers. Then he releases it gently, back into the water, “off you pop!” he says with a smile, knowing that his playmate will live out its natural life and never suffer a hook through its lip or be any human’s trophy or dinner.

 

When Chloe rises from her bed the first thing she notices is how beautiful the sky is, like a watercolor painting streaked the color of lemons, peaches, and plums. The second thing she notices is Lucifer, lying naked upon a large, flat-topped rock beside the lake, its rough gray sides glittering with mica, winking like diamond chips in the sun. His giant white wings are fully spread and flung out wide, the ends of the longest feathers almost grazing the surface of the gently lapping water.

 

Lolling like a lizard, basking in the sun, he lies there, sprawled in carefree, naked abandon. Chloe can’t help noticing the smooth, sculpted swell of his muscles or the hand slipping idly down to languorously grasp and stroke his cock.

 

Chloe knows she should, but she can’t look away. She’s startled to feel a sudden dampness in the crotch of her white cotton panties. Tears start to trickle from Chloe’s eyes as she watches him. Never before has she seen anything so beautiful. There’s a shining purity, a special kind of innocence and honesty about this moment.

 

Lucifer strokes himself with slow, languid, almost lazy caresses that gradually grow more urgent, harder and faster, as he finds the perfect sensual rhythm. His body and wings tense in expectation. His body shudders, his wings tremble and twitch, and a triumphant, ecstatic cry escapes his lips as his seed gushes into the air. And he falls back, limp and smiling, against the rock.

 

Chloe makes a quick trip to the bathroom, to tidy herself up and pull on her jeans, then she goes downstairs and makes coffee. She leans against the kitchen table, feeling the wooden edge bite sharp against her stomach. She stares at the stack of brochures the priest gave her, and the well-worn Bible with fluorescent tabs flagging certain pertinent passages. She shuts her eyes, breathes deep, and sighs. Behind her clenched eyelids, Lucifer still lies sprawled on the rock, the Angel of Light enjoying his solitary pleasure, carnal yet curiously and confusingly innocent.

 

***

 

Lucifer is putting on his clothes when the cabin door opens.

 

“Lucifer!” Chloe calls and waves to him. “Come in!”

 

 


End file.
